I am terribly excited and I will not respond so as to savor the moment. Yeah. I still haven't replied and will not reply till tomorrow night. For after I reply all the goodness will sink beneath the reality of the situation. I had waited ever since March for this moment and here it is and it shouldn't be wasted just so easily. For example, it makes little sense to drink by gulps for it is in the sips that the drink is going to be most potent. When the taste lingers on the tongue for a few minutes you feel the growth of its power before you casually allow it to consume you. That is love.

There was once this somber vague

it had veiled this silver rage

Upon whose dwelling did it shine

it did make right for none but swine

When the candles had been lit to show

that summers and nights dont breed behind doors

For that which is beckoning

swirling, behaving around you

Is some malign liquid birthing within

the murky blown voids of rains alone so misty.

Maybe in the future someday I will tell her all my stories. Perhaps tomorrow might present itself to me as that future. I highly doubt it. For me to do something so consequential is unlike me, I cannot. I will not surrender to my passions. But grief? Isn't grief a passion of sorts? If one were too immersed in maintaining it most certainly could be looked upon as a passionate endeavor. She thought of me, out of fluke or out of thought, I was in her mind in the present for a second or for an hour, I was there. Since she is always in mine then in that moment, an hour or a second, we were one.