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is getting old without you
the little wrinkles in the skin of my hands, you used to love them
the eyes that used to find yours don't have the sharpness anymore
that mind which used to only find silence with you, well it still screams
it hasn't aged a day, it has served as sentinel and not allowed a single
moment to pass
I wouldn't say parallel existence, but of a serialized pause left unchecked
how I could live if I let myself, who knows, perhaps ou have found a way
I think of another 9 years to pass and 9 more from there
if retirement should find me somewhere I've never been before I will still hold
the pain of not sharing it with you
no sunset
no satellite tracing in a black sky
no wonders inside or outside of the mind are so great
I miss you so much

with the winter now and
calm wait with these words
and there were silver things
and understand you will be fine
let the words okay
after a sunny morning statement
I see it how, yeah I see it how

the whisper rhythm
and now and how
Belgian stars with me for lace
not happy how, i have it now

end trance and these sounds I snap to

is a feeling poorly described for it never exists in the true absence of hope. Hope sharpens the edge of anticipation often in spite of probability. Hope is the dagger which cuts when the inevitable occurs. Genuine absence of hope would be the purest expression of logic and possibly the least human response. Hopelessness is truly a hopeless, but noble, pursuit.

and offer my best

It is odd, less of a deep pained anger/sadness that normally paints these feelings, but today a contented joy. I simply feel nearly as good as the light from the eastern window of 405; like you are right there smiling. I do miss you painfully, every day. I am glad that this exact moment though, it doesn't hurt.
I love you, I hope you are doing well.

and where do they come from? These stories that write themselves dynamically like dreams on the back of my consciousness. Close my eyes and they are they are in instant . now a red tail on a curled pet with a driving beating song of words I can't quite understand. Some are the leftover glows from lights I have just seen, but the rest is all , red circles in a radial semi-circle repeat around and now forming to a tree that folds then explodes to a full canopy of leaves and then crumbles to light trails and cinder. I dare it to swallow me but it doesn't get close enough, it is a mere fraction of my horizon and has no matter but the pulse of my skull reminds me this is not actual. Porous marrow now, white with black holes and the music has turned angelic, hymnal but again I can't make the words out. Dark outlined eyes perhaps of a doll. Still the sound of a fill mind...whoa...consciousness slipped for a moment then I snapped to awareness.
back to the grind, enough thought logging after my daily failed fishing expedition. I miss you, every day

Doot, dab uh dah ba dah da, reeenrrrh, waaaah scratch a scratcha, wooonnnh, weeeennnnaaahh.

Thank you