The trail has been lifted off the page; it was tape and old and I did not know this when I signed the letter marked “urgent” on the day that we met. How could I have missed this? We blame so much on youth and stupidity when our parents are to blame for leaving us alone too much, too often; for not directing us to love each other or ourselves the way we should. We needed specifics. Our happiness was as delicate as a giant sugar sculpture on a hot day. We were children in the night and grown-ups the next morning dragging through the streets with worries like large felt suits hanging off of us, tripping our steps. Then the wind grows stiller, then more still and stops. But it doesn’t matter. For as much as we claim the moment, we love as well as our past permits us and we live in future moments dripping with haste and fury and the sound of thunder. We tread in a jungle that has been shorn and left to fend for itself. There is no Luke Skywalker in the government or in business or in the family. We lead our happiness around in a box stuffed with papers– receipts, old poems, lists, mad questions and sincere signatures. We think that all has lead to this with no mistakes… everything with a purpose. When I wake up in the New Age, I’ll know it– it will make the sky turn purple at 3 and birds will sound smart. I could win a chess game in the New Age, and it’s OK that there is no meaning in the mistakes of our youth– only lessons which can never be applied. Only regrets which can never be diminished. Only you over there and me right here.