It is harder by the day for me to imagine you anywhere in which I also am. Two objects traveling in opposite directions, so far and so fast, at some point are not traveling away from one another. They are simply traveling.
For a long time I thought my world as a place without you in it. Now it is just my world.
Something is holding me in place and I am having a hard time identifying what it is. I feel like one of those butterflies on display with a pin through the chest beneath pressed glass. It is a good life, but I am not necessarily growing. And it is no one faults but my own if the plants are not watered.
This is the first year in many years in which I fear and feel as if I have nothing new to show for myself. Is it still a good life if it’s going nowhere?
I am sad about something I have not lost yet, and I am having a hard time identifying what it is. There is an illness lurking in one of us, I am not sure which. I worry more if it is you, and less if it is me.
All of this is an idea I cannot touch but feel it hinged closely to the next few decisions I make and what I do with these next few months.