writing is easier in these earlier am's. decidedly less than fresh from hours of broken sleep, pounding coffee like free drinks at the red eye in st kilda. the tiny hours before work are a gift. if you have ever woken up into an empty house, tired and alone, you understand. there is a silent peace to it. i am loathe to give it up again.
i dream more vividly here, everything more in focus. last night the whole world was about to end but it didnt mean a thing when we discovered that your arm fit around my shoulders exactly right. and the cut of your form as i watch you work the room says i am safe. some people find security in money, in love, in possessions, in faith. i am still searching.
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