I write for future read. That when i live to be forty i will not loose the memory of being young and twenty. To write for memory. Let this be the only known reason and the only connection to those brief joys and sorrows that went by. That i may remember if i ever should soon live to forget. Of flights and conquests and days of little or great significance. To retrace the miracles that once worked within me. The miracles of love that both moved and maimed me. I do not write for the joy of the multitude nor to grieve the sorrows of the lame. I write for myself, to myself and for a few others whom i share myself with. I write so that if i should ever grow old and weary i may recall those vanished hours and it’s fragrances and look upon a 
mirror reflecting me . . . when i was young and twenty.
sunday ritual
November 25, 2007
