Much of it has passed by—life, that is. “Have you adored someone?” I believe it’s true. Upon a parachute, desiring to desire, somber, with flatness. “The pain isn’t enough?” No, it isn’t. It’s strange when motivation wanes. “You haven’t taken a break.” It’s more than that. I haven’t broken the gates. Life is passing by. “You’re doing what comes naturally.” Some days are easier than others. I come to writing with heaviness. I come to her with imposition. She’s always willing to embrace me. I drag her low on a bad day. “This is what it takes. Try; but try not to try.” A rare balance. Another riddle. We know something is lingering. It always does. It’s never enough. This has become life—with her passing into the great ether. “You know it will pass.” It’s been returning quicker than usual. I am inquisitive. With eyes opened & life is enjoying herself with others. “Life is with you. Life in contemplative. Find her in cogitation.” Something unique is forming. Stars are vigil. An interior is guessing. Apples remain sweet. “This is life.” No. She has other compartments. Life is rarely by totality. “Yes. She shares the best of her appetites with you.” Life is with others, maybe less, but I see joy. “According to one’s temperament, according to one’s lot.”
