Aren’t We Lonely?

It’s 2 in the morning and I can’t sleep. I listen to my neighbor playing harmonica in the apartment below me and think of the lives I haven’t lived. It’s cold; I wish I could remember the dreams I had last night. Maybe you were in them, but they say everyone in my dreams is me. There’s no pleasure in it to overstate the case to say I love you when in fact I loved you yesterday but today I only need you to tell me you’re OK.

3 December 1982, San Diego