Reading Borges in which characters discuss the effect of time on poetry and that time enriches the poem. Surely this applies to other writing. The words and situations may change, but the feeling of the moment endures. Every star builds a pillar of light.

We are mirrors for this light.

There was a feeling, fleeting, that I considered leaving my bed to capture. I didn't, and now it's gone.

My writing desk is functional. Now it sits next to the treadmill and PS4, and the 48 inch TV. Now all I need is a decent computer chair. Maybe two.

Sound-proofing, maybe, and an AC unit. It gets pretty warm in there when I'm walking.