All things considered it is better that the moon is in the sky, that the sun can make us blind, that stars die years before we see their lights go out. Yesterday a book came in the mail for me -- Understanding the Libra, and though the note inside was what I needed from you most (thinking of you... love, K.) I am glad, all things considered, that the day's intent remains safely buried beneath the colorful storefronts and crowded highways and wild air. Does anyone really want to know? The car might come straight out the fog, jump the divider, and change everything. The lump might not hurt at all. If only we knew our words last Saturday amounted to nothing like a road at all, but rather a dead-end -- would we still have said them? I might have gone home early, you might have slept until your bedroom filled with light to wake you from dreams that no one will ever remember. All things considered it is better that tomorrow is out of reach, that yesterday is rainwater in the sun, that there is nothing we can touch but this moment which blossoms for us once, and then is gone.