day 137

12/24/01

midnite

i'm okay now. the moment passed.

i miss him with a roaring
sadness. i miss his sweet eyes. his hesitant smile. his strong arms and warm chest. i wonder if someone else is resting against it now. i miss

you dammit i
miss
you
arrrggggghhhhhhhhh

i

damn

you

(rolls over &punches pillow)(not really, i'm in a chair in the den while mel and mark work on the presents.)

"sitting on the floor sucks" says mark.

damn you damn you damn you ARGH!!!mmmMMMFFF!!!(kicks wall in a fit of rage, shakes fist at sky)(in my mind.)

WHY ARE YOU THERE AND NOT HERE?!!WHYWHY WHY!!!!!i will make you a robot who is an extension of my mind. then you will do whatever i want. you will be a part of me. "do you love me?" "yes." "how much do you love me?" "this much." "show me." (makes love)

nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!! NO.
soulless, empty. i like you with free will. i like you as you are. never no robot love with you. never a puppet. not you and not me. no mindless masturbation against another body, please never. without both in it that's all it becomes. &i would never chain you. or be a slave to my need for you. so go find happiness if it's not me. go. go. go. i want you to be happy. even if i can't face it. i'll miss you until when. 700days. ongoing.

oh joe

don't go.

i just wanna
be your ho.

sent an email.

seriously, i don't miss
being 'first runner up' to his
"serious contenders" (who were his age).

shittiest feeling in the world.

so

shitty

sho
city

"fucking pricks" mark says (peering at the directions for assembling a car ramp thingmajiggy for
james.)
you put the car on the platform and it toodles up a ramp. then gets ladled onto one of two highways.
and along those highways you can set up booby traps so it goes off of one bridge or another or another.
or through a guardrail. or into a pond.

pretty cool.

"perhaps you could have found something a little noisier, dear," mark says.

"i'm patrick the police officer, reporting for duty!!"
that's the sound the little man makes when they put him in the hole.

"little people, making friends," sings a smarmy chorus of nasty children out of a little speaker. "MEOW," says a fake cat. "shit," says mark. "this is gonna suck." melissa laughs a little hysterically. whatever the fuck that thing is, she's bound to really like it.

.

.

i'm being silly. i know. it feels like i have to.

there are two layers. this
and ....the other.

.

.

.

9pm

....i'm fucked up.

we finished making the gingerbread train,
ate a steak and shrimp dinner, had a few cupfuls of
eggnog, and sat down in the living room to watch
'the grinch' with jim carrey. which is pretty
funny. but they got to the part where the young
grinch makes an ornament for his lady love in
their class at school and everyone laughs at him
because he fucked up his face (at 8 years old he
had a beard) and "that was the last time we ever
saw him." and they show the grinch climbing
the snowy mountaintop to be all alone on the peak.

and all of a sudden i just want to
find a hole and cry. everything's been so mellow this
holiday. and all of a sudden this bitter loss that
i can't even describe. the thing that was impossible
to look at when it happened and
so too-much that i just shut down, except for this web page where i've put it all.

i'm thisclose

to sending him an email, which i know
i shouldn't. why should i send him anything?

i mean, i think about how he sat there on his porch, on that sunday before september 11th, and listened to me talk for half an hour about how i missed him and
then wouldn't kiss me, because
he was seeing someone. and then that he slept with
her. because he really 'wanted to pursue' it.
why should i write him a damned thing?
i try to imagine making chit-chat (ie how are you, fine, and you) and i just can't. i try to imagine having a conversation with him, sometime in the near or far future, when he's with someone else, or just not with me, and i can't. i don't want to hear
about his life without me. i don't want the pleasantries.

i just can't imagine it. it'll be a long long time before i could have even a polite exchange with him beyond hello. all i know is he wanted something different, and until i stop caring about that,
talking to him will just be impossible.

all the same, i think i'll just say hello.

i can't help it. i don't know why.

right now it just hurts so damned bad---not crying in my beer hurts. it hurts my mind. and i don't
really know how to explain it. i've been on both sides
of the heartbreak thing and from this side
it's terrible and from the other one you just go, geez, stop needing me so much.

i'm on this side. until i'm not.

can't help it.

.

.

.

.

.

*i miss my little bird.*

spanky&cutiepie

eric sez:

"Not me, officer. I don't know nothin' 'bout 'birthin' no babies, I don't know nothin' 'bout no web site & the way you describe it I don't even understand how to get there. Peaceout"

so i can rule him out.

if it were someone from the station that leaves brad.

yo brad if it's you it's REALLY OKAY
really
no worries
it's all good
no
big
deal.

read away.

not that i would hand out this address
to my work colleagues, but i'm not really
ashamed of it, either.

brad is the resident computer genious so
that's why i thought maybe him. or

it might be just someone from the blogger site
who followed the links;uh,uhggghhh?*siiigggghhhhh*

kim said yesterday he had holiday depression full-on. i'm sure he'll do something with kristen or maybe drive to rooster poot. i have to call bina&co. and see how they're getting on with spanky. ray is working today, but says he plans to sit in front of the fire later with the dogs and sip cognac.steve wrote the holiday has gone to "shit, absolute shit."

(sings in kermit voice while james pinches mouth):"i'm cold and i am shamed bound and broken on de flo. illusion never changed into sumpin real. m wide awake n i kin see da perfect sky eeeees torn, yer a leetle late, um already torrrrrnnnnnnnn"

"you look like a bee-face"

melissa brings a pill and puts it down. "what is it?"

"a vitamin."
cool.

.

.

.

can't

get the computers to work. can't
get a roomful of people to shut
up when i open the mic.
can't find current stories

then someone washed
out to sea in malibu
&i'm running down the path because
the guys who say they're investigating
had something to do with his death.

says james,

"you need a dream doctor."

.

.

.

day 136

12/23/01

a coupla messages from carolyn. in the first one she says, "it's allright honey, i understand. i hope you get strong enough in yourself to be able to be around dynamic people like me." and on in that vein. which is fine. her vibe just affects me too much, and if that means i'm not strong, whatever.

in the second message she says she got some gigs. some lifetime tv thing she'll shoot the first week of jan. and then the 'role opposite anthony hopkins as the detective, the starling character, in the prequel to silence of the lambs. i just had to call again and share that with you.' that's cool. it sounds like a big deal. but after some looking up stuff on the pre-production buzz about that movie, it looks like the starling role isn't really in that movie much except for a cameo. ie, maybe one scene? but i could be wrong. still, it's a film role. and that'll be great for her. and she would be great for it. she's the shit on a screen, and if she can get going, good for her.

.

mark's at the top of the stairs. "melissa"
damn, i couldn't have a fucking family. everyone needs something twenty five hours a day. i know i bitch about my solitude, but i swear i could not have little sharon bugs or any bugs attached to my hip making noises on a constant basis. i like being an aunt. that's the best.

.

.

"WINTER SQUIRREL HUNTING A SOMEWHAT
DIFFERENT GAME"
squirrels are still kentucky's most popular small
game, drawing more than 100,000 hunters to the woods each year. 'interest in squirrels has dropped off some,' acknowledges chris garland, the state's small game coordinator.

the article comes complete with a recipe for squirrel casserole!!!!

from today's courier-journal, the louisville paper. --sports section.

.

.

. "xinsi are you still in your pajamas?"

me: "yeah"

james: "you look ugly"

me: "THANKS, JAMES!!!"

james: "i mean, your pajamas are ugly"

me: laughs

little kiss ass

mel: "james do you want some spaghetti-o's"

james: runs up the stairs, comes back down
"you're a sucker-sucker xinsi-head"

.

.

vacation is great. not working is great. here i am at 11:15 wearing a red sweatshirt and fluffy striped christmas socks. drinking mel's coffee and eating
toast with cinnamon-butter. poking around on the puter.
letting the sharon-bug roll round on my lap. funny little kid. just grins and talks with her eyebrows. doesn't ever say a damned thing. "i beg her to just say ma-ma" mel says. when i sing ba-ba-ba, she'll do that. she likes to be held upside down & asks frequently for it, by leaning back as hard as she can. she seems to be left-handed, like me. the other day when glenn walked in with his cool-ass hat, the hat freaked her out so badly, her face screwed up and she started bawling terrified tears. hats throw her. she's like spanky in that way.

she is a year and two months old

funny bug

dreamed

last night that the nazis were on the rise again. here in the u.s. and some of us knew how bad things were going to get: that this time it was going to be even worse than before, it wouldn't be just jews, but a lot of other kinds of people; but some people didn't know how bad things could get/were going to get; so there were the innocents, the hidden enemies, and you didn't quite know who to trust. ruth was in the dream. frances---of all the random people. i forget who else. i was trying to leave a message before my scheduled interrogation, for the family, to let them know i loved them and would be okay.

.

.

.

mr or ms dslextreme could be anyone. someone could have come to the public blogger page, with its link to this page, which used to link parts of the old page. who would have that much time on his or her hands? to figure it all out? that's why i think someone from the station. i don't think i even care. if flyboy puts his life on the air, i don't really care if i bare my soul here, and someone reads it. i think everyone knows, anyway. and they know he's a basket case and i'm a basket case. and gossip gets round bout everyone anyway. at first i was kinda mad that someone was checking in a lot & that it wasn't him. but now it only bugs me not to know who it is. if someone digs my writing THAT much, sheesh, i'd like to know WHO at least.

james is going bonkers ..man, he needs a kid to play with. too bad i don't have any little boogerheads running around. don't think i could deal with it though. i bet he and lucia would get along. too bad i can't bring my california friends here for the holidays.

....so anyway.

i was thinking maybe it's brad. cause
he's kind of a computer-genius who seems
smart and maybe kinda lonely. or
or i was thinking eric, because he works
on the same machines i use, and the histories
are right there in explorer. he coulda gone,
'kewl. xinsi's web journal. ha. rock out. i can
read up on her shit.'

actually, i emailed eric and asked if it's him. b/c
if it is, that's cool
it's all good
what evah
and then it might not be any of that
maybe i just imagined the dslextreme stuff. blowing pipe-dreams up my own butt. maybe this is my lucid dream. my afterlife. my
hookah pipe

ayaaahhhh.

it could all just be radioactive mutant-thoughts from being so close to those glowing rods of not-so-buried
emotional plutonium
still a whitehot core with his name
scratched onto its surface. and the
names of others beneath. and
then just a glowing subtance with no names
which consists of raw unexplained forces that
are better left untouched.

touch them he did, though

is 700 days even a half-life for those forces

i don't know.
thought these pages could be my yucca mountain. but
no one wants a yucca mountain. not in one's own backyard. GOD! what to do with these spent rods? BREAKER ONE-NINE, do i see the fuzz? no mama bear in the center divider? i gotta take em someplace.

~*~

half life, nothing i'd call home. it's lucky how
these phantom limb bee-stings
never show. it's not enough to leave this
falling kindly
you burn my star down twice as brightly.
it's just your half-light undertow.
but if you need forgiveness i don't know.

...it's just your half life, long to know
and if you need a reason
so it goes.

~sneaker pimps

.

.

day 135

12/22/01

.

.

.

FAMILY STORIES OF CHILDHOOD AND BODILY FLUIDS

(or, home sweat home;)

~*~

ah the memories.

sitting round the breakfast table, suzanne
starts digging up those old family legends.

like skeez. when we lived on
lakewood boulevard in painesville.
how she had the flu and called weakly
from her bedroom, "i need help..."
so dad goes to see what she needs.
and meanwhile skeez gets out of bed,
goes for the door to her room, and
projectile vomits,
across the hallway,
towards the bathroom,
just in time for dad to
round the corner to see the
spray of vomit pressure-blowing
through the air from one
doorway to the other.
"and your dad turns around," suzanne
says, "and runs back down the
stairs to our room, and says,
'i think she wants you.'"

.

.

or glenn. who is looking
very trendy and handsome with his
little sideburns, who rolled in three
hours after he was supposed to be here
last night.

glenn had a picture of dad and
suzanne hanging by his bed when
we were living in that house.
he was about 8 or 9. and one day
he got pissed off at suzanne and
hawked a big lugey, and carefully
covered her face with
a veneer of snot.

.

.

but the dad story might be my fave....

from when we lived in the house in chardon

a wild party one night, back in his
drinking days, he's loaded, i mean, really,
really loaded. so suzanne gets him up to the
bedroom. somehow. and she's standing there holding
him up with one hand, and reaching for the
light switch with the other.
and she
can't
quite
reach.
so she....lets go for just a second. thinking,
she'll lunge for the switch, then grab him really
fast before he totters over. and in that
split second, when she lets go,
he

falls

forward

flat

on

his

face.

BOOM.

blood
everywhere.

all over the
powder-blue
carpet.......

towels and towels that night
soaked with blood and dad wakes up...
at about four a.m. with a broken nose.

.

.

it's fun to visit. for a few days.
to hear the stories, get a look at
each other, and leave just before the
dysfunctions have time to reassert themselves.

.

.

yea baby

over the river and thru the woods,

back to louisville today we go.

.

.

. day 134 12/21/01 11am ~*~ it could only be someone from the station. my guess is computer staff. or anyone who checked the histories of the machines i used. .

.

. day 133 12/20/01 11:21pm i mean it; i'm still sitting here, and i just saw you check this page. if i don't get an email letting me know who you are, i'm going to stop posting. . . . i'm fucking alarmed...... damn it, identify yourself, yeah, you, whoever you are, with the fixed dsl extreme i.p. address. . or i'm shutting down--or moving-- this page, and that will be that. . . 10:37pm damn. it just came to me: after some internet wandering, more staring at the blackness outside the window thinking about nothing, jotting stuff on a pad of paper, more thinking about nothing, finally the light GOES ON..... and i feel like an idiot. i have a friend, and it ISN'T joe. he's kept his word and not checked my page. but someone else is. it was a pretty obvious thing i should have noticed before. so i have a mystery guest ....like, ten freakin times a day..... AND, scarily enuff, it's NOT JOE... WHO ARE YOU? . .

.

. ~*~ . . 9:30pm ~*~ is it really 9:30? my body doesn't FEEL like it's 9:30. somehow the time difference DOES catch up even though it's only three hours. for tonight's gather-round-the-tv-with-the-screen the-size-of-a-football-field-movie, melissa trumpeted SNATCh. we all sort of milled around undecidedly and finally let her carry the day. bad idea. i'm sure snatch is a perfectly good movie but this is NOT the setting. or the sensibility. in the Universe of the Family Homestead, the best thing is really stupid jokes (preferably dirty ones) and light romps. that you don't have to really pay close attention to. i mean, snatch, you look away for two seconds and you miss the stunningly hilarious moment when the dog swallows the chew toy. *sigh* i might be feeling a little tude. snatch was one of those movies that was Cool. there was a lot of Buzz. and it's a Guy Movie. not as in guy ritchie, but as in a Dude movie. ....you know, very hip and badass without a shred of feminine anything. so i might have already been inclined to resist it. on the other hand, in a different setting it might be great. as it is, skeez toodled off to bed about 45 minutes in. Suzanne served pie, which she'd cooked up in the oven. buttery flaky tangy apple-full ......if there were a vat of that warm browned silky melty crust i could just roll into it naked. and open my mouth and roll around and around so dad fell asleep. suzanne went to do dishes. james asked if we could watch something else. mel looked bummed out. i dropped off the planet and am here now in the study; i am thinking about 567 days. there's a little window. outside the window the night is per.fucked.ly black. and i'm looking out of it and thinking about NOTHING. i'm thinking about nothing. absolutely not a thing. but once in a while i think: mdtweezer? stalker? (achingly, wonderingly)joey? ....then think more about nothing. . .

.

. i think i'm losing my mind. imagining things i wish were true. .. let go let go. . . .

.

. 10:30am ~*~ lots of snow everything is dim&blowing white outside. . . . james: "xinsi" me: "what" james: "you look really...beautiful" aaaawwwwww..... i love you, will you melly me, me love you long time.....heee heeehee

.

. day 132 12/19/01 11pm say ni-ni auntie skeez can't you say? achoo. ah ahchoo, achoo you say nite-nite? sharon you can play with the light switch tomorrow. voices upstairs. okay, goodnight, another light winks out. black rolling hills go forever. deep country, far from cleveland's smudge of lit clouds. house goes dark ..... sitting here in the little study a kind of vertigo &placelessness. hard to describe. ~*~ "these are the days, my friends, and these are the days, my friends."

.

. . .

day 133

12/20/01

12:45pm

snow snow snow.

dark&blowing dim&glowing outside

.....

family-time. upstairs we were
showing each other girlie-stuff and clothes.
sharon is fastened like a little barnacle
to suzanne's side. snuggly in her white suit
with the zipper she pulls down like elvis.

she doesn't say a damned thing.

uh-oh and tickle. that's it. the rest
is grunts, grins, and frustrated wailing.

james just said "xinsi" ..what i said

"you look beautiful"

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww...................

we're teaching him to say 'i love you, will
you melly me, me love you long time.'

.

.

.

day 132

12/19/01

11pm eastern time

now

i'm in cleveland.

at the family homestead.
chardon ohio to be
precise..east of cleveland..rolling
hills and fields. country
living.

like another century,

another universe.

strange to be around the whole
family again. glenn is not here,
he'll get here friday. we leave sat.

.

.

.

hooooooo
...god....

day 131

12/18/01

12midnight or so est? where the hell am i? kentucky.

i'm

in

kentucky.

.

.

panic started setting in last night while a bina's

the urge to puke, the can't get my breath the horrible panic attack that never ends. steve drove me; i popped a pill given by the doc; mellowed into nothingland. with the intrusion of airports between here and there. and i am here. looney and glooey headed.trudging up the staircase toward sleep. sleep sleep. on the rollout bed. in my jammie-sweats. with a pillow covering my head. i will sleep like the dead........oh, yes. i love sleep and i love that the whole entire universe whose rules and strings and even plays of light orchestrate my every damn day is so far away, as far as i'm concerned it doesn't exist. ruth who? joe who? not quite.

life is but a dream.

.

.

.

day 130

12/17/01

......going to sushi. then sabina's to curl up and watch video. then..
had a dream about scottie last night. i miss his goofy trendy self. seems he doesn't call sabina back now, either. sad. we all acted like idiots, i guess. it's too bad we can't be friends again. oh well.

*ack.*

~my christ-mess present to myself;~

broad strokes of sunlight to power my flashlight; megawatts of passion from past obsession
to power my urge to do chores. buckets of tears from the bummerama,
to water the trees that grow new drama.
a pickaxe to carve stairs in the
slippery slope of who cares.

~*~

a pinch of whatever, a dose of forever
with 2/3 of never. blended with clever. and
strength and a lever. (from spanky, a feather.)

half a cup of sweat from an angry man's brow.
the corner of when at the opposite of now.
choked emotions tendered as art. the most tender part
of an artichoke's broken heart.

magnetic residue carefully scraped from a length
of forgotten quarter-inch tape. on which is recorded
the right answers to the wrong questions.

the tears of the harlot in the used
car lot. the echoes of a language
that could soothe her anguish.

with music from an orchestra
of broken instruments.

mixed at the precise speed of a man
escaping from can't and fleeing toward can.

salted with the condensation of ocean air
from a lonely night by the pacific,

divided by the square root
of unfair.

hello in there, hello in there.

who does your hair?

sorry,
didn't
mean
to
stare.

.

.

.

day 129

12/16/01

~*~

freedom!
it's a beautiful thing. shout
and
sing

give me a detailed map to nowhere.
put me on the road, i'll go there.
if you've got a dream i'll buy it. sucker for a scheme
&won't deny it.

shines like gold and buys like copper.

i still say very good grasshoppa

it's all so good you know, in spite 'a

give me a kiss and hold me tighter.
i'll be your new york city firefighter.

.

.

ow*yow*owwwww-ta here!
without a doubt.
make me want to
sing
and

shout.

day 129

12/16/01

4:30

.....had written a longer post and now......

deleted a lot of it.
some things better not talked about right
now and i noticed i got some hits but anyway
it seemed better to take it down for
several reasons....

quiet.......quiet, be quiet, while twilight hangs heavier and heavier in the air
...outside

a landscape of tall buildings &low houses&storefronts, outside the 5th floor floor-to-ceiling windows
gold dust and deepening dark

quiet, quiet as the air cools, as shadows come in on the dusk....

night, good night, along quiet streets

darkness gathering

be quiet and come inside where it's warm. kicking
through dead leaves on the sidewalk. i love your hesitant smile.

.

.

2:30pm

*in the traffic center*

some lame-ass sticky-fingered poo-poo head went into my drawer last week and
took my cheat sheet.
this week, my headphones were gone.

not that it's a big deal. they were crappy headphones. but still.

i had been reading about guys and their fantasies, etc. and one said he
liked to jerk off in front of a mirror. that he would ejeculate all over himself, and it
excited him. i guess that was what got me thinking about sex;

i've forgotten,
for a long time,
about sex......

just haven't thought about that much,
in this time of indoorness. dormancy.

sitting in the traffic center.

in a tall building.

mid-wilshire.

city and sky stretching out around me.

around me, swirling and moving in a circle, moments and moments. stretching out
into other
moments. and then
other moments.

and everyone else
moments radiating out
into the past. toward the future.

gold dust trails
lighting
the southland sky

.

.

.

i was

walking along, minding my business
when out of the orange colored view, wham bam alacazam, i got a look at you. one look and i yelled TIMBER!
watch out for flying glass. and the ceiling caved in and the bottom fell out
i went into a spin and i started to shout
i've been hit
this is it
THIS IS IT

i was walking along minding my buisness when love came and hit me in the eye.
FLASH BAM ALACAZAM.
out of an orange-colored, purple-striped
pretty green polka-dot sky..... flash bam alacaZAM, and GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD BYE!!!
---?nat king cole, is it?

isn't that how it happens? out of the blue? out of the orange-colored view? i get a look at you and it's too good
to be true.

*sigh* love just feels ....possible. maybe a momentary delusion. but it does, it does.

that great surprise of it when it comes.

that great feeling when you discover you can fight and disagree and it doesn't end everything.

it
moves
the
world

and all the machinations that were annoying become bearable because
there's love.

oh blah blah....i'm going to gag with all this sweetness.

~*~

someone else, a dj named scott, told me yesterday a lot of people ask about me. 'no fewer than seven in the last six
months or so,' he said.
it's good to be an invisible presence. about whom little is known.

this way, people do not find out i'm really a

geek. ....arf! arf!

.

.

holidays.

like a cruel joke when love has left you or when you don't love anyone.
but when you love someone, esp. a kid, it's different. i remember mel and myself, in our flannel nightgowns mom made for us, looking
over the balcony in the middle of the night and seeing the christmas tree down in the living room surrounded by piles of presents, all for us. we would poke each other and giggle and she would come sit on my bed and we would whisper about what we might have waiting for us.

and we felt so loved, protected, and so EXCITED by the twinkling lights, the quiet of the night, the warmth of our nightgowns, each other, everything.

one of the truly pure memories i have---a memory of pure excitement and happiness.

like

heaven.

.

.

woke up this morning thinking
about
sex.

.

.

~whee.....thank god i'm not dead....i can feel those things still......~

.

.

it was good to make the break from carolyn. as much as she
thinks she is a source of light and spirit, life seems cleaner and
more hopeful since i made the break.

my mind is more prone to magic
when around magical people-----or even

just

away from people

who through no fault of their own
are draining the magic
out of your mind.

.....and yet i can't stop feeling guilty. is it because

i'm a jerk or is it a catholic-girl thing? because i feel
guilty as sin.

should i have explained it further? when someone
pushes you in a certain direction and you demur and demur and demur
and demur and she doesn't get it THEN,
because she's so wrapped up in her needs and dramas,
and finally you just can't take any of it because it's so not about you anyway, and
you know if you explain it the whole thing will just get nasty, because she WON'T understand.

but then you feel you owe an explanation because from her point of view:
the lens through which she sees things which is the VERY REASON you don't want
to be around her right now---from HER point of view, the two of you were just great
friends all along (she never saw or dealt with the demurring and pulling back because she didn't see it
or didn't want to see it)
and now all of a sudden you're saying GOODBYE!

when in reality, you've been pulling back
for so long and in so many ways, it's not sudden AT ALL....but she
sees it that way, because she's so not tuned to your channel in the first place.

and not only does she not KNOW she's not tuned to your channel,
if you confronted her with it, she'd strenuously and insultedly insist that yes she HAS been
tuned to your channel, why else would she want to BE with you so much?

just like she denied the jealousy over my other friends and then i gave her examples.

i don't don't don't want to get into it i don't dear lord i just, i just i just don't.

fuck!

fuck, i DON'T want to have any more conversations with her, i dread the very thought of trying to explain this
stuff to her.

but i'm feeling GUILTY, like i should.

along with feeling relief at being away from her vibe.

.

shit, dang, i don't know i don't know i don't know.

sometimes with her i would look up at the sky and instead of
seeing the trails of gold dust stretching out over the mountains
i would see ...nothing. too blinded
&limited, by my awareness of her angst.

now they're back, the gold dust trails. and every other
magic thing that appears by surprise.

every moment full of something.

every moment a door opening to ....a heartachingly gorgeous distance, somewhere at the end of the gold dust trail. or to
lying under deep warm covers, holding his body. kissing him quietly, one small kiss and then another, with wordless
silence between. or.....to gutwrenching confusion. or.....to a clean shower of sweat and heat and exhaustion.