Midsummer Night's Dream...

Sleepwalker's dream last night.

Curious, storybook morning.

Oh, the phone calls I haven't returned. The letters I haven't written. The thanks I haven't properly expressed. Always behind, always trying to catch up. That's the way it is. Fitzgerald was right, we beat on, boats against the current, born back ceaselessly into the past.

What if everything in front of me didn't seem so large? If everything behind me didn't seem so small? What then, I wonder.