Just hold my hand. You’re going to be ok. The wave returns to the ocean, one day. We spiral on endlessly and our stories are small, but they matter. They matter to me. We may be mice or ants or grains of sand on a cosmic scale but you hold my hand and stay with me. The stars care for us and give us light and the evening glow that falls on your face will caress you while I am away. I cannot be here all the time, as you know I tend to drift, but even so just hold my hand and you’ll get through it. We wake up at 2 and 4 and 6 in the morning, consciousness returning, a wave in the ocean, but restless and unsteady we survive the day ahead anyway because we have to, because we decide to. We survive because the stars care, and because mice are still mice and they matter, and the ocean is a home for the eons and when we return we will bring stories and poems and tears. We’ve always been together. Hold my hand. You’ll be ok.

















