But Dreams Have Ways Of Turning Into

The Circus Looks Abandoned And Empty. But You Think Perhaps You Can Smell Caramel Wafting Through The Evening Breeze, Beneath The Crisp Scent Of The Autumn Leaves. A Subtle Sweetness At The Edges Of The Cold.

We Lead Strange Lives, Chasing Our Dreams Around From Place To Place.

You Can Say Anything With A Post-it. I’m Not Entirely Sure Why That Is. Maybe The Friendliness Of The Squares Makes It Easier. A Square Is Nicely Compact And Less Intimidating Than A Full Page. And They Come In Cheerful Colors. Non-white Paper Is Kind Of Inherently Festive. Or Maybe Paper That Sticks Feels More Important Than Paper That Can Blow Away. (though You Can Move Them, If You Need To Put Them Somewhere Else.) They Might Not Be As Lasting As Words Carved In Stone, But Post-it Thoughts Will Stay. For Awhile, At Least.

I Am Tired Of Trying To Hold Things Together That Cannot Be Held.

She Turns Her Head, Bailey Catches Her Eye, And She Smiles At Him. Not In The Way That One Smiles At A Random Member Of The Audience When One Is In The Middle Of Performing Circus Tricks With Unusually Talented Kittens But In The Way That One Smiles When One Recognizes Someone They Have Not Seen In Some Time.