Will rocks fall from the sky? Will it roll up like paper? Will it burn out, or fade away? Which is better? Small talk, then.
The crisp, cool, winter air makes me feel like the whole universe is better, a ridiculous notion, I know. We are molded and shaped, pushed and herded by pressure, all the time. It is good and it is hell.
If I open my mouth, what will I say? If I open my eyes, what will I see? Here's what's real.
It's a problem with relationships built on the foundation of this verbal medium that it is hard to touch you when I have nothing to say. You cannot see me smile, nor hear me sigh, and I cannot see that look on your face, that look that I would grow to love, I know, if only I could see it. There is a communion of silence that is good for the soul, but you can't read it, and you can't write it. Physical silence is tangible and sweet. Written silence is empty, nothing. It's the principle of locality, if Einstein was correct, and we are distant objects. I have to put these words into your immediate surrounding, and I need you to put yours here. It's the uncertainty principle or, more precisely, the observer effect, and I am gripped with fear that in knowing you, I will destroy you. I don't want to destroy you, but I want to know you.
What makes me sad is not that I will not be able to forget you after you've gone. What makes me sad is that I will. Eventually, I won't care at all, and I'll be completely happy. Isn't that awful? It is.
Don't worry, though. I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
P. S. - Aphter: Thirteen. Thanks for stopping by.
