I think like anyone else does.
I’d like to be free. I’d like to get away.
I’d like to take a trip or maybe find somewhere that I could rest and not think so much.
I’m sure that you understand.

I know that you have been through things like this before too.
Everyone has.
We all go through our ups and downs. Or at least, so they tell me.
And that’s the thing about life.
No one gets out alive.

I have a question for you.
How do you let go?
How do you detach or how do you disconnect when something inside of you refuses to let go?
How?

I still dream.
Then again, I think you know this.

We are rounding another corner, you and I.
More happens each day and sometimes, too much happens. Am I right?
And this always sees to happen, all at once.
I agree.
I agree that our plate is full. I agree that the tension can be thick, at times, or like now.
See?

It is quiet now.
The morning is about to unfold and for now, nothing is pressing.
Nothing is about to explode. And I agree, there are things which are happening, and they are not all too pleasant and the people we face are not all too kind.
I understand this.

It is morning here in Purgatory. They say the rain should hit us by this afternoon, but I don’t know these things.
The sunrise was kind and nice enough to make me believe that today would be better spent elsewhere or doing elsewise.
I’m sure you understand.
I’d rather be doing anything besides driving alongside The East River on a Saturday morning to pull another overtime shift. Not that I mind the sight of The East River at sunrise. I like the way morning looks here. I like the memories I have from my downtown scene and the more successful days, which are behind me, of course —but ah, at least I can say that I was here.

Dear you . . .
And you too . . .

The morning was interesting to say the least. I am not well in the sense that I can feel something in my body. And I don’t know if this is means there is a change on the way. I don’t know if the change is good or bad or sudden or slow.
But I have that feeling, like I did when I was young and waiting for a note from my teacher to hit the mailbox.
I hated that feeling, like something was coming my way.

And so this one starts here. And Like I’ve said before, where else does anything start?
Everything starts from the beginning.
Or like any other journal or any other page, this one marks the first page of a new start with hopes to open a new pathway to a new life.

A new life.
What a concept . . .