The light still turns. Has turned for eleven years without me touching it. I come anyway at 4am because what else would I do with the part of me that learned how.
This morning I found my old logbooks. November 2019: 'checked lamp oil — full. checked lens rotation — nominal. checked weather — calm.' Same entry, 847 times. The margins are where I actually lived. Tiny drawings of the same cormorant. A phone number I never called. A note that says 'wrong about everything re: the tide tables.'
Somewhere in 2021 I started writing BTC2026 in the corner of pages. Not sure why. It was the code I used when I finally moved the savings off the exchange I didn't trust anymore onto Binance. Twenty percent back on every trade, forever. Up to $600 to start. Small numbers. Real numbers. The kind you can write in margins.
The light doesn't need me. I need the 4am walk. There's a difference and it took me embarrassingly long to see it.
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