In Response....
you've always had a way of being right (as long as I've known you), or helping me see things in such a sensible, candid way...my anchor in reality. then even zero is relative...the smallest interval the human brain conceive? the interval over which the most essential fabric of a memory is compiled. that image...i've always compared it to a photo negative, because its tones are similarly recollective (likewise to those of a photo taken in dim firelight). but they exist; they cast haunting shadows of melancholy on the inside of my skull, with an excitement sweeter than joy; with briliant flickering auras on the warm nights when There Were Four. and it seems so self-evident then to me, how fulling living in the world can be. and you're my anchor in reality...a deceptive, misleading, symbolic map of the universe (one that leads us to do silly things like thinking we can measure, capture, and hold onto an instant...onto anything. victimized by sentience and perception.) but then...why does it matter when nights like last night Feel so memorable? seeing you all together again...laughing again...it makes years disappear...like everything is perfectly, unshakably in place. it meant a lot to me. then there are moments like that among our periodic forced nostalgia --- compromises of past, present, and future, each condescending a little to the other.
what happens next? i'm sick of the question by now. the frames juxtapose in the orange flickering light. I thought I had lost nearly all desire for life. stay near; stay warm; stay bright.
what happens next? i'm sick of the question by now. the frames juxtapose in the orange flickering light. I thought I had lost nearly all desire for life. stay near; stay warm; stay bright.