I don't know if I should be feeling sad or proud of myself that when everyone else seems to be out enjoying their night, I'm here on my desk reading the mega-thick book of The Basics of Communication Research and completing my 11-question tutorial, all the time listening to Chopin. This is evolution.

You leave me fragments and they are more real
than a library of novels. Wisps of words
from centuries ago, caught in the translation.
I often feel I am living in fragments, skipping

over words leaving the rest of the sentence
blank in order to move on to the next page.
Maybe there is hope in fragments, that what is lost
can always be filled in by someone who knows.

"Remember that at any given moment, there are thousand things you can love."