I lay here in my bed, so far from rest. You'll be fast asleep any moment now.
The rain outside has been falling for hours now. It toys with my emotions much like the way a beautiful piece of classical cello brings a tear to my eye. Without explanation or hesitation.
I reflect. Hindsight is the only real 20-20 vision. 
History is just that, and it's out of my hands.
It's too late, far too late, to ask questions of the dead. And the living hold knowledge of no relevance to my inquisitries.
I sat on my back steps today, waiting for the birds to feed. And they'd forgotten me. Months have passed, but I wondered if they'd remember. 
I can't say I blame them, if they left for a year I'd most likely forget them.
I do miss them though. Birds of a feather.
My puppy sleeps between the pillows beside me, safe and secure. He makes a neat little curvy shape when he tucks his feet in and his nose hidden in his lap.
Circles. Life seems to have an excess. I'm overcome with dizziness on occasion. Waiting for the cycle to break, searching an exit on this never ending roundabout.
Direction. My internal tomtom has a flat battery and I'm flying blind. Trying desperately to find a road to get me where I want to go. If only I knew where I wanted to go. I only know where I've been.
My eyes grow heavy. 
It's funny the way I start every piece of writing as if it's to you, when really, it's for me.
I guess, I just want you to want to know me. 
Even my hand written pieces are written to you.
I've never had someone hold such an influence on me.
<3