Good morning. Moments ago I realized that it was 04:30. And now I realize that it is 04:31. This entire evening has been spent attempting to unravel things in my head.

Successfully?

That has yet to be determined.

Poetry hurts. Why? It makes no sense sometimes that things must hurt such as this.

And I recall what my friend once told me...

"Alguna ves... tenne que pasa." Sometimes, it has to be. (Spanish for those of you who care)

There is a reason that artists suffer. But endurence heals. It seems rather strange to hear, because endurance itself is not healing. Rather, it is the factor of time which allows for healing to occur during great struggle.

Great art- great things-- they must endure the suffrage of time to have any great affect on a grander scale that can provide change and healing.

The ability to endure great travesty has brought forth the best in humankind. During rough times, we must endure more.

It is now 04:57. Time to wake up world.