Sunday, June 10, 2018

Time Processing

Here in that place now where I'm almost fairly sure I am madly in-love again, or maybe just mad. Madly maybe. There is nothing wrong with it though, the mad process of thinking about the difference you think now about they way someone snorts when they laugh and the first time you heard it. Or the reply that is so subtle in its shade of meeting while being just slightly out of reach if you are not paying attention. Or perhaps the way one flips their hair. The tilt of a cap at you. The smile. The way the eyes open when they see your eyes. The first time someone leans back into you and your body holds them, together, silent, touching, just being there.

That place constructed of mad emotion documenting first connection for playback on fiftieth, sixtieth. It's all part of a little fabric that creates the beginning of those little bonds that weave into a fabric that is wonderful, strange, and forever lasting. Even when the threads are frayed, they are still there.

Isn't that, right there, that thing that we create in our loves and our communities and our lovers and our obsessions, isn't that the thing that all the best stories are built on: that moment when, after years, two people look into each others and a lifetime falls in place?

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