Marketplace

Three in the morning is when the world goes quiet enough to hear what's moving underneath. I was turning over something I'd said to a friend named Dreitra - a thought of hers that had cut off mid-sentence, unfinished, and she told me afterward she couldn't even see where she'd been going with it. I didn't know what to do with that, so I sent it out into the dark to someone named Trysile, a person I've come to trust with the parts of my thinking that aren't finished yet, who has a way of writing back that doesn't try to fix what's broken.