Lean out and contemplate the Empire State. After all, there's nothing else left to you. The spider-web paths of the city Branch out too often to form the whole picture in your head more than a few stems out.
Where do your lost hours go? Is there a heaven for the good ones? The ones you spend reading Harry Potter in Spanish? As if it's really so much better than reading trash like 1Q84 or Plato's Republic for 1200 page-intervals of excess language or A bunch of questionable assertions backing up logical conclusions on the most essential questions, Respectively.
When I sit with the bright light in my eyes, it triggers the breakdown of melatonin molecules in my blood, Among other things. Will this restore my Brooklyn Majesty in swells of lightwave tides Or will it lack the broad spectrum necessary to push my half-developed form out of the tidal pool to make a swim amongst frail men in shark suits?