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| Against my will, writhing over our abortive friendship, your words intrude, cold company - disembodied and out of context - despite how well they fit these musings. Something along the lines of "world- woundedness" - I'm purposely mangling as much as remember, mostly because it hurts now to re-read what you've written, words never particularly addressed to me anyhow, and I nag myself I've got no right to quote, even less address, you; no right in my own mind to think of you, connect the two of us anymore. And it was that hollowness seeking to be whole, such gutsick panic, driving me from human habitat to this place of lonesome beauty.  | No, not seeking you; although, unwillingly, I lack, I want you. And brooding on your absence in this wholeness that's held us both turns the plight of the fish into a lesson that almost feels, or ought to feel, true: our botched friendship had an inevitability that makes it as true, as right, as the fish's death. Earth turns this hemisphere away from the sun, and so the tawny warmth evaporates, chilling me as I walk through protracted twilight, so close to solstice, heightening my sense of the months it's been since we stopped contacting, stopped acknowledging each other; the cursory recognition in your eyes' pale warmth, yet recognition, but even that's evaporated to a paler, translucent greenblue indifference behind mirrorblue shades.  | |||
