There will come a day.

As I walked through the theater after the last actor left tonight, the moment struck me, as true as it was simple. I will someday walk out of that theater for the last time. I will someday walk away from the theater company I helped build. I will someday not see all of the people in my life any more. Have I contributed? Have I done anything to color these memories, anything to be remembered by?

And what will happen tomorrow? What's next? How did I get here?

Of course, I'm thinking about tomorrow. I don't want that burning feeling in my gut or the lump in my throat. Part of me is anxious to get things started in a new direction, and part of me is nervous about the vulnerable place I could end up in. She will be there, and possibly my whole perception of the end just doesn't exist in her story, but then again...well, no, I do feel I've lost her and everything connected to her. I can't see her in the crowd any more, though I know the crowd is looking at her. I'll find a way. I have to.

Yes, tomorrows are beginnings, and every chapter tells a new story. Somehow, I'm trusting that all this happens for a reason, and the truth stretches from the horizon so that we can always look back and see how it adds up. If I can remember to breathe when I wake up in only a few hours and keep that going without distraction, I think I'll be okay.

The brain and the heart - such a dysfunctional relationship. Would it not be for their dependance on each other, they would have gotten a divorce a long time ago.