The other day I walked into the library and was caught off guard when everything had been changed in there. From the furniture to the location of some of my favorite books. But this generated mixed results. While I could not longer maintain some organization in my random selection of books it forced me to develop an entirely new organization. And since this was the beginning it was an entirely random process. I picked up Tolstoy's War and Peace for this new beginning. Though just before I could get anywhere through the introduction I was distracted by a reminder on my cellphone. I had to get back to work, which I did.

One two, one two three. 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 1, 2, 3 is the sequence that people use to walk past the library. Just about everyone uses that same sequence. First I had ever noticed this sequence was over 6 years ago while reading age of reason.

How is that I never knew what I was feeling when I was with her? How is that when the realization came that she had left me the realization of me loving her didn't come with it? How is that it took me four years to come to terms to it? No matter how much I want to redefine the word, or how I define it, no matter what it was I do believe now it was love. It was unique in its presentation but I suppose for every other person their own love is unique. Is it like saying, all mothers love but all mothers don't love the same way.

She would've held my head near her heart and comforted me. I would've taken her hand and walked her to the balcony. We would've watched a sunset together. we would've fallen asleep there. I was at death's door she was the one who saved me then - without ever being present, without ever saying a word. Just the mere possibility of her being with me for the rest of my life held me together.

There will never come a smile upon this face, there will never come a love again for which this heart may ache. I will never allow it. In my solitaryhood I will bury my grief.