Nobody will ever love you like your money, the way it clings, so reluctant to leave, the sorrow it evokes when it passes on to others. How often you think of it there with them, making them happy, yet irrepressible in its longing, what it goes through to reassure it is only about you, awaiting your touch in your wallet, or clip, and, when you awaken, clumped together in servitude in change and crumpled bills on your bureau, even sending statements through the mail! And the reverie. How bright it was when first you met, that single shining coin, how reaffirming when held close. How often have you almost lost it entirely, only to have it return, made small, yet pleading for your attention. How it struggled through your efforts to find you, saying, Here I am, with you again at last. It could always be like this.