I don’t know how to start. The tip of my tongue feels odd.
I’ve got to get a straw. Start exercising. Clean this joint up.
Because right now it is hot, and I feel unwell and this is time I could be spending reading. I am pulling from a dry, uninspired well. This is insipid. This is useless. This is battering something through that has no need to be broken.
We can’t stop until we hit five hundred and we’re not even one-fifth of the way there.
Get in my bed you said. I laugh because it is a year if I start walking now to get there. You say it again. I say I would you know I would if I could.
It would just be nice to lay here with someone, holding someone. You said. I said I know.
Laying here in this summer heat, I consider this body. I consider this body, the one and only holy vessel for my spirit, a case that sometimes frightens me with its tendency to mutiny and tilt sideways. It would just be nice to lay here with someone holding this body. This one. Not any imaginary one that has been sprung from inside my head. How extraordinary to be recognized in your physical form as existing. Sometimes I think I believe this. Mostly I think it needs work. It needs work before I could do any such a thing.
But if he asked and it were possible. If it were a matter of one room to another rather than thousands of miles. I don’t know. I don’t know at all.