Most nights I wake before dawn and scratch a few words onto a piece of paper that most likely will be lost by the time the night departs and returns. But if I do not reach my pen to paper I will be neglecting the sounds of the shadows that crawl across my bedroom ceiling. The daylight follows as though to confess a love for a sin too grand to understand, the passionate mingling of the sun tracing the moon in the hours we call twilight. But when the two share the sky, nature is at its truest and most beautiful. I chase the night, and shall not rest until we can intertwine, until I also am true. In order to discover oneself, one must know, first, the laughter of the clock. Insomnia can truly be a blessing, however, it is said that the oblivious are the satisfied. I never have done anything the easy way, and I do not intend to do anything unless it is done right. I refuse to minimize myself; the world will be mine, I will save it. Anyone with the belief that I deceive ears with my tongue surely has never stared into the trees’ dance in the light of a streetlamp. I am willing to walk the most pointed rocks of this world with only my soles to hide behind. For I am a traveler, one of many spinning spitters, wanting only to know the night, and learn her secrets.