I can not tell you how many layers of sorrow are wrapped around this heart, or how many soft caresses have failed to wipe them away. I could not tell you how many times I have had to climb over “I can’t.” I cannot find a way to describe the exhaustion I feel in every part of my body, in every part of my mind, in every part of my soul, as I try to push through, and reach and reach, day in and day out. And what am I reaching toward, but something I already hold, that is already mine, and yet is so far hidden from me. I can pretend to feel its warmth, just beyond my grasp, but I cannot. Once in a while I stumble, trip, and land in that sweet place; that warm, soft joy. That glowing yellow. And I think, “This is it. This is it. I’ve got it now.” And I stand up, and I congratulate myself, and I bathe in that luminous glow, until it’s time to go to sleep. And I say to myself, “You’ve got it this time, you’ve got it, my friend.” And I bow my head to the pillow and the starry night all around me. I cannot tell you how, night after night, my heart finds its way into those same, same, well-worn wraps. Or why it zips itself in, like it’s found the best sleeping bag money can buy. Tight. Warm. Just right. And then, when my eyes open, in that heavy, heavy…I digress. Slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly. Every sip of water, every hug I accept, every word I spit out, every time I let myself be seen in that warm glow, another layer slips free, falls down, and returns to dust. I know it’s just a matter of time, before I am where I want to be, and I can fall asleep, and wake up in the soft morning light.