evening in the garden surrounded by fireflies we d only just moved in i spent my time alone there reading and planted one thing a day while shoveling the yard my spade hit a metal box and in it was a diary the cover old and frayed it said i don t know how much time i have but i guess we never really do i thought that i would be terrified but it s worse to watch them watching sometimes i wish our lives were simpler that we never had to stretch the food that people here would treat my brother well and that he would know he s good i laid out all those pages and in my study typed them up it was tough to say how old they were i guessed sixty years at least the boy who wrote these words was an odd and complicated mind but wisdom s often heavier when found before its time he said we all get stuck in circles but nothing moves in perfect lines connections underlie the things we see but to nuances we re blind and i am never singular i was born a pair but walk alone my mirror shows the things i m not but he helps me feel at home 