to leave things even. Nothing's even
between us. You, retreating to your
high moral ground, and dubious speak;
leaving me, to explain myself, in
increasing circles of helplessness.
I know what I know. Gestalt, I think,
is what you call it. I know the knowing
deep inside. And know what's been
lost, or pushed away, or cast into oblivion. You choose not to know. Ok. Let's not call it denial -
just things you choose not to know.
So, here, now, tonight, I sit. I. Sit.
Separate. Not alone. Opening my
arms, the universe flies towards me.
Not alone. Connected; connected to
all this; and all that too. Connected
even to you, as you frantically withdraw, in panic at the reality of it all.
I know what I know. I know connection,
how it feels to not be separate from
the world. Mostly, I don't live it. Easier;
alone is such a safe and special place.
And yet. Connection. Is real.
And strong. Pulls at us, even when we resist.
My connection is real. If you pull away
the connection isn't broken. Just not
experienced by two. The world
moves in; and on; and on; and
time (that sly fox) will come to blunt
the most intense of feelings.
My tea is warm. My life is good.
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