around my room just thinking, thinking it was gone

I have more pictures I keep meaning to share. An awake time like now seems as good as any. I keep wondering about the mutability of self. In particular, how it is that someone could know you just as well after a period of soulchanging years as when they knew you then, in the before. Wouldn’t I be a stranger? How is it possible to fall back in? How did that happen? How did I know?

I saw that in your eyes too.

Like Bill for example. After only two weeks or so away from him, of almost three years, he seems fallen. It was possible to hear the crash in his conversation. The desperation in the choice of words. Everything was taken personally, it was practically impossible to hold a conversation for imagined slights.

I don’t want him defending his insecurities with the cry “I am an artist – you don’t understand me”.

He hasn’t called or made contact in over two weeks. I consider this over and I wonder if that’s what I want.

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