I lay awake for hours at a time, trying to [be less] rest less. Those sheep won’t come to be counted; you’ve got to work with what you know. I list off digits of Pi. invent new words and tell (myself) stories that make the room seem smaller and the world that much bigger. Everybody wanted shelter, and they wailed like the world was ending. We’ve got an apocalyptic kind of friendship, you and I [never met, but knew each other inside and out.] & I am a sister to the synapses in your brain (but such a reliable liar)! She could be depended upon to shake things up/ rattle and roll. it’s all in the wrist.

Know your trivia/what’s trivial. ((try to be less trite.)) I like that shade of humility; it suits you. Suit/clothe yourself. with it. Take (it)[what’s yours. what’s yours?] and leave (the rest). alone. Nobody really wants to believe they’re alone, and I can’t figure out why there are so many atheists. It’s a long drop for the angels and a short life for the rest of us. I wonder if some of them secretly believe they are too good to come [down (here) from on high]; (and do angels have ages? shot down in their prime, do they still retain the shell shape they left behind?) I’d probably keep my mouth shut, too. The Fall of Men (but just the beginning of it.): Sure I love God, she says with a wink. It’s the devil that I get hung up on.

Still, you’ve got to live like you believe it, and I feel like every day should be a birthday (so I’m 7,115, give or take). I cup my hands over my heart and feel it thump-thump-thumping dependably inside my chest. *Remember to thank Him daily for that steady beat. Like the way it felt to sift through your mother’s big tin of rice and beans: push our fingers down (we are lifted up!) the memories chase [us]: surround & comfort. Death keeps popping into view [morbidity of life like a punishment / the cross we bear.] What will you become when you die? Do you think about things like that? Did the angels? Do the stars? Plan for the future, brace yourself for the present. We’re all just waiting for the last big supernova. ((I was afraid of dying, but I’m not anymore, and I wear those constellations like I was born into their number.)) That’s all you can ask to have said of you, in the end: "She walks towards the sunlight. treads like a lion." That final Bang will come any day now.

Men are too rough with their hearts/dreams. I know a boy who waxes dramatic (gets down on himself about things that haven’t happened/not happened yet) You’ve got to admire the pathos of it. [[effortlessly /less effort. Exert & extol. run like streams across your tongue]] You’ve got virtues they ain’t even heard of yet! (it’s those lines on your face: they give it / you away.)

Know your neurons. I can list them off one by one on my fingers, and this girl and I? (we) make our own dreams come true. You want to talk about fairy tales and the way the tides slide and shine /slice through the fabric of the earth. but it’s [a sin to tell] a lie and we all know you’re building a house too close to the shore. Read your parables. Brush up on those old wives tales, because when the time comes, you’re gonna mix up your babies in the dishwater.