from behind those hidden passages...

shared a secret with a stranger
she said, eight years.

i will.

only how long is a while, my dear?
it strikes me as terribly unfair how fine i am until i hear from you between silences. all the wisdom in the world will not make me a whit smarter when it comes to the sticking point.
why does the power of saying the things i mean desert me only when i need it the most? perhaps because of all the things i must not say that tie my tongue into paths it cannot follow comfortably. why then be deliberately cruel? oh sigh, i cannot understand it. does it hurt me more than it hurts you? i doubt it - i will doubt it: if only because it is easier to recover from pleasant surprise than from crushing disappointment.

and now, suddenly, i'm waiting again; after all i did not to have to... only, i know it will not be today (or tomorrow, or the next week, or the next month) - our next meeting. i think i will manage eventually, to let it all go. i know i don't want to; not in the least possible littlest corner of me i don't want to at all but i will, eventually i will because i must.


and still there is hope in spite.

i can't keep doing this

fast and loose and in and out and yes and no and -
what did I ever do to make you treat me this way?

for my cat

I grow accustomed.
Did you know I had stories to tell you? I cannot tell them now; I'm afraid I will break before I finish. I am happy, is that not odd? I should be miserable (oh, I am; but I am) but I'm not, just in pain once in a while.

I love you, but -
I will have to let you go.