Wake up. You're not allowed to sleep right now, when dreams and nightmares and lonely musings, every stray thought unprotected in assumed silence, float free in the night when everyone thinks they're the only one awake.

Every one of them feels the feelings, the pain, the joy, the anguish, the loss, the fear they only feel when they're alone,

But you feel it all.

You feel the old, afraid, and the young, just as afraid, and everyone in between who's just beginning to wake up, or who are dreaming fiercely just before sunrise.

Wake up. You're the only witness. You can't miss it. You're not allowed to. You have a gift, you have a gift, you're special, you're unique.

But right now, you're not gifted. You're not unique. And you don't feel special. You only know that you never sleep in this place, this busy, busy fearsome pavement place, where strangers sleep and everything you see is metal and plastic and concrete death, where even the life is planted by men's whim.

You are a force of nature, but what good is that when nature is miles and miles and a million minds away?

You are a messenger, but what good is a message for those who have no ears to hear it?

And in this dawning hour you know that you are special, that you are important, that you may be the only person who knows what you know.

But that's only for you to know. And so, in a nutshell, what good is it?