Lost in an endless thought she walks so elsewhere, weaving easily among the everything that cannot, though it try, catch her eye. She adds her wordlessness to the noise of the street, cars and others dancing complex patterns from different heres to various theres all around and she, without a sound, calls to all of them, but I'm the only one that hears. "If you follow me," she says through lips pressed ceaselessly closed, eyes looking always away, "I will take you where you never knew you wanted to go." For soft fear, for love of the painful repose of this uncomfortable chair, for conservation of potential, I sit and watch her pass, more unaware of my stare than the distant afternoon moon. The wind comes behind her and blows away the memory of her passing, only now a dream with no antecedent, disconnected from any reality. There never was this street, this day, this lovely obliviousness in the long black sweater and high winter boots. Some part of you knows that she cannot but remain so aloof. Were she ever to focus her gaze it would shatter the world.
The fog pulled himself together, came in from the cold and sat down with me for hot tea. We talked of balmy days and warm winds over the water. The fog had something on his mind, I could tell, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. So polite, our banter, and never getting to the heart of the matter. As he left he leaned in and kissed my cheek. They do that where he's from. Then he dissipated and floated away and I only saw scattered glimpses of him for many months. I hope he is okay.
Hello, friends. I hope you're well. I really do.
Later. Love.
