We look for little bits of fluff like that. (I’m not writing with a purpose now, just without pause, and whatever meets you has survived re-readings and backspaces and usurped all other phrasings that might’ve once made up, shit, this whole thing.) 12:34 and this was our last last synchronous numeric date just passed, 12.12.12. The pyramids align perfectly with the stars. And the male sea horse is the parent who carries the child. Whatever.

Tonight I’m not to be distracted, but brief:

Every day is a fresh beginning, every morning the world anew; You who re weary of sorrow and sinning here is a beautiful hope for you, a hope for me and a hope for you.

All things done are past and over, the tasks are done, and the tears are shed. Yesterday’s errors let yesterday cover; Yesterday’s wounds, which smarted and bled, are healed by th’balm which night has shed.

Here are the skies all burnished brightly; here is the spent Earth all reborn. Here are the tired limbs spring lightly to face the sun and to share with the morn in chism of dew and the cool of dawn.

Every day is a fresh beginning, listen, my friend, to the glad refrain, and, spite of old sorrow and older sinning, and puzzles forecasted, and possible pain, take heart with the day and begin again.





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