A lot of material suggests that my desires need not be subordinate to reality. A pity, that many around me resign themselves to this fate. If I do nothing else, let me express my deepest apologies for anyone that I blind with brilliance. I shine, not because of some inner glow given me at birth. No, if I reflect any light, from winter's afternoon dim to summer's high noon, it comes entirely from an obsessive polish.
I wear dents into plastic keyboard keys. I rip and crumple clean sheets from too many unfinished notepads. I hope that if I ever dull, it because I can no longer polish.
