One's best self. Such an elusive concept. What ought to be as opposed to what is. Because we do not care to admit what is. Or at least I don't. Phantasma and illusion. Sometimes I think that is the only truth there is. And morning is not the best time to be pontificating on the answer to life. And this just popped into my mailbox.

I could love you
as dry roots love rain.
I could hold you
as branches in the wind
brandish petals.
Forgive me for speaking so soon.

Let your heart look
on white sea spray
and be lonely.

Love is a fool star.

- Carl Sandburg