We are what we repeatedly do. br —Aristotle br br You know how it is waking br from a dream certain you can fly br and that someone, long gone, returned br br and you are filled with longing, br for a brief moment, to drive off br the road and feel nothing br br or to see the loved one and feel br everything. Perhaps one morning, br taking brush to hair you'll wonder br br how much of your life you've spent br at this task or signing your name br or rising in fog in near darkness br br to ready for work. Day begins br with other people's needs first br and your thoughts disperse like breath. br br In the in-between hour, the solitary hour, br before day begins all the world br gradually reappears car by car. br br br Anonymous submission.