It was this time three years ago, now.  1:14AM-1:16AM in the upper bedroom of my friend’s home.  And I was tired and running from a marriage that was running from me.

So while my little 97 pound dog stared at me, I pulled out a pencil and stared at her.  It was a bad sketch, like most of my sketches.  But it was kind of her, and it was important to tell her that she mattered in the moment, because every other moment didn’t seem to matter, anymore.

And then she was too tired to pose and even my promises of WALKS? and tomorrows could not hold her head up.

Maybe it wasn’t enough for me, either, to keep watch so long.

It’s not that we run out of time, so much, as time runs out of us.