Its all alone in the world, this light. It shines and it tries to make sense of the way. It shines alone. Will you ever see it? Will it even stay with me once I've forgotten it once more, this sense of loneliness? How long can a light shine all alone, without having its friend? Can a light shine alone forever, if it never had its friend to remember when its alone? I don't know. I swear I don't know. I know that when they shine together, shine once, shine once and for all, then I can rest peacefully because I know those lights will always be there. We had lights of the prettiest green and blue once. Spinning tops sinking to the bottom of the ocean, like being hypnotized deeper and deeper. Maybe they'll never brighten together; but they will brighten together, in a way. Two lights at the other ends of the ocean, you wouldn't imagine one light reaching the other end. Except it will. They will.
Are there deadlines in fourth grade? At that time homework left over for after ten o' clock was a taboo. There were phone curfews, some people slept early, others did their homework right after reaching home, and I admit I've done it in school if someone was late picking us up. Calling a friend to ask a particularly difficult question at eleven in the night was outrageous. You could tell it was - your parents thought so, their parents thought so, they thought so and you thought so. Eleven! What did you do the other six hours you had to yourself? That's what everyone asked implicitly, always implicitly because the question spoken aloud was always about how long it would take, when you would sleep. I remember calling a friend at six - six! - in the morning, to tell him excitedly how I'd solved the question we couldn't understand last night - this was seventh grade - and setting off a whole chain of calls that ended with people hurriedly scribbling homework before clas...
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