It's nights like this that get me thinking, get me writing. Last time it turned out pretty good.

There's a cool breeze coming through the window, and it smells fresh, it smells new. Not the same musty smell coming from the apartments behind my house, but a deep, moving scent. I can smell the pine trees on the hills around me, I can smell a change in the seasons. The air feels light, thoughtful; the hint of moisture, from the soon-to-be morning dew sticks to my hands and face. The wind kicks up, I can hear the Eagle's cry overhead; he's moving towards the lake, looking for his next meal. There is an activeness that I can't place, though all is quiet around me, the world is not empty.

I walk, following a feeling, nothing more. A single car passes me on the road, and I wonder if it's driver can sense what I can. I follow my feet, and listen to the rythm of my heart. It's colder here, but I feel warm; my face flush from the walk. I follow the curve of the dock, and I stop at the end of the landing. I sit.

I've been here before. Once upon a time, I spent the whole summer on this dock. From dawn until dusk, I played on these weathered boards. I layed out in the sun, I slept, I ran, I fell, I swam, I cried, I talked. I spent the nights watching the sun go down, enjoying food, drink, and friendship. But not all the memories are good; I lost something here, a part of me. Someone left me, wanted out of my life. I stayed here, when she left, I couldn't even get onto my feet. I poured my soul out to the water, and it washed it back on the wooden dock. I pleaded with the starry sky for anything that would make this easier, but the clouds moved in, to intercept my prayers.

Most of me died here, on this pier. I smile at the memories I had, even as the clouds begin to cover the night sky once more. I can't ever go back to that; I can't come back here again. My heart was torn asunder, my head shattered into pieces. I sought solace in this place, but no more. I bend and kiss the ground, and thank the dock for it's ears. I promise the dock that one day, I'll return for another sunset vigil.

I follow the road back, and the same car passes me going the other direction. He too, had found what he was looking for. The wind hurries me inside, and a friend is waiting for me. I curl him up in my arms, and settle into the over-stuffed couch. I scratch him behind the ears, and he settles into a steady purr. He is relaxed, and so am I.

"Can we make it? Can you stick with me until the end?"

He paws at my hand, and I close it around his. He meows in agreement; I think he understands. His eyes are focused on mine, intently watching, contently purring. He closes his eyes, easing into exhaustion; I join him.

"Tommarrow will be different," I wisper in his ear. "Tomarrow will be better."