I thought I was in a relationship, but in the last week, everything special has wound out of patience. It’s let go of the rope and what I feel is falling out. I’ve been remembering stories about immortality, about when the gods walked among the mortals of the earth. Two children waited in the dark outside the door, they went inside and saw candles, stars, quick bright flames and steady burning embers. They were lives, every soul upon the earth shining, visible because it was time for them to choose thier own. One chose the faster burning bright and the other chose the dreaming warmth that continued for thrice as long, (it’s always three in the stories, but you know this.)
I want a catalyst, a defining moment of this can no longer be, and so far what I’ve found is a damning silence. A caught grabbed tear the cloth with my fingernails phone-call with no content, that was last week, one day short of a week. Not enough to live off, not enough to find my way into having a being again. I said I would not write the first letter, not throw away my needs anymore for desire, for the elemental grief that’s the only available trade. I stand by what I said. I stand by my differences in thought, my basic requirements of contact and breathing.