Knowing that people like You exist has helped me get through this week. Thank you.

[If you know this applies to you, then it does. [You know who you are.]]


Sometimes it sucks having a semi-complete record of my most intimate thoughts--being able to pick a moment and relive it as many times as the will can endure--but even so I wouldn't trade it for golden idols or diamond trinkets. Or for Her.



Take, for instance, that moment of painfully selfish honesty--when it was impossible to know if this newly-flourishing friendship would manifest as phoenix or burn as sacrificial offering to the pop-Gods, Harry and Sally--when the context required a phone call of inexorable futility and no-other-answer than the one you gave but did not owe me; take it as an example of why living, properly understood, is the most difficult action anyone can attempt and why those who abdicate their responsibility also relinquish the rewards of accomplishment, but also take it--and every moment since--as the consummate sign of what is possible with thought, what is available when integrity trumps whim, when the impossible receives just treatment as a non-value instead of a dis-value, and the emotions that flow from that recognition usurp the emotionalism of desiring not-even-the-unearned but the unearnable; take it as an example of remarkle happiness, of illuminous virtue, of that which should always be named--as what I cherish most about our friendship and what, when asked, I couldn't immediately concretize: our particular, peculiar, perfect benevolence.


A nervous excitement between their lips and the moment--as if this night's closing was the opening of another and its beginning the final couplet of a since-rewritten poem--their breathing mingles and eyelids withdraw, focus shifting from taste to vision, a reluctant departure, if necessary--for now. It's a "goodbye" kiss but a "hello" moment--the end of the start but the start of something exciting and beautiful and, among other words, fun.