He doesn't look, and, I suppose that it is okay. It is okay for me to just want and know that I'm capable again to see someone, and let that be enough. He might not think of me and that's alright as well. I have him in my thoughts. Most of the time that is plenty. Other times it is not, and still others, too much.
I find it strange (I find me strange) that I live mostly from thought to thought, and in between I manage to insert myself into the world and exist as boldly as I am capable, and then retreat into myself again with just as much intensity. It is like that with him; so much, then none, then a little. I'm not quite sure how to balance anything.
I do not know what it is that intrigues me so. Perhaps all feelings for others begin with a slight touching of souls. Maybe then you spend the rest of your time with them attempting to recapture that moment, sometimes succeeding, but mostly not. It is the 'not' that keeps us wondering and makes us think we are somehow failing at human connection. And, oh, that hurts, so we ache and we retreat. The moments pass and we create this barrier to keep the light of each other from touching. And, then it's a desperation we cannot name.
This longing, it seems to me such a silly, but beautiful game.
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