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there was nothing.

nothing for which we could proclaim much about. just an undeniable, don't. don't what? just don't. conversation in the middle of nothingness that is baseless. bandying words about in a fruitless argument of self. surely, absolutely baseless. on the real. yeah. no stop. except for the issue of addition. that was the only thing keeping it at all logical in reality. at all. then you paused and started to add; and one could say, what would the maths have to do with any of it.

it was the all of it.

as one sips the combination of bitters and sweets all arranged in ones cups and sups it easy. wondering if one could possibly, just possibly cross the street and meet oneself in the second dimension of the better cup. though one would say starb* is the best, the very star of the rest; knowing a roaster and the brown sugar edginess of a better job roasting can remit, i knew the star was many times fallen. i just sit.

reviewing the vignettes of mind and life and kind. difficult, i could say this one would be. difficult. i knew it from the start. word of how he would grow to be a very old sad man without me. well let him be sad as can be, cause me he would not have. i woke up this morning to a man. wet lipped, wet phallus, turgid and recently removed from . . . it gave a gentle, distinct pop as red head extracted, lifted as though thinking of a quick return, before he eased back. i needed to get up. i needed to leave. he knew this as i did and it had just been a case of giving in.

i paused in the thought as the lady steps out with her friends from starb*, arguing without heat that it was cold, the one with the very large mole on her cheek, in pale, spring green, that were not for protection against cold, just a brief cover for a thought of chill and the rest of the day of mid sixty. made one say hmm, the one with the mole, said without heat about the cold. almost a rhyme in platitude.

the other thought came back, as it always does. laying warm, against warmer flesh, the sweat a welcome lightly cooling thing, from him, from me, just refreshing only as fresh sweat can be. eyes clear and light in the recent light, lighter than mine can ever be. dreams of maybe one or two with eyes as espresso toned as mine, he leaned back then pressed those wet lips to mine.

we will in good time, this time. very soon in this time.

like we had had so many other times. committing to a something, somehow, someway. i felt this thing flower within me. the certainty thing. it would be this time. though i did not know how. it just would be.

i can't tell you what turned me. maybe it was the memory that i seemed to have of you in bed, and i would wake you. that flash of color would happen, just happen; that brilliant orange, copper, cinnamon with chocolate in the hollow under caramel, pure butter caramel on cheekbones so high and distinct. they almost looked polished, almost looked like balloons had been inflated beneath them until the skin was taut. nose small, short and straight and almost childish with those eyes, eyes that without a single wrinkle could appear 1000 years old. you could disappear, but only if you chose to, never on accident. your figure was bold and set in hard muscle and bone and softened a bit with the extra flesh of woman. even when you had more than this your flesh still felt like a firm rubber ball. it was you and only you for over 20 years, and even though i had fought it, the drive to be WITH this had nearly killed me once.

i swore that this time, THIS time, i would be with, without dying.

no running stupid across the street to get to that HER. i would have her numbers, her digits, her places, her spaces - and i would be with her, if not as often as i cared, as often as i could. and i rolled that around a bit, and it felt good, and right and there in a way that i hadn't been. hadn't been in a very long time.

we shared a house, a spiritual place that both of us were. we had been there for a long time in binding. i suppose that being hard headed and of some spirit one could not accept the other being ahead, but equal could do. the left leg could not accept the right leg being ahead of the left all of the time, but 50% could do just fine and if it was more than that the other would make up.

there was a pause in the thoughts, not forever, but a bit and then the flow. the flow of knowing of showing of feeling that future happening right under the skin of the year ahead of you - the indefinable, but definite tomorrow. things tried to come apart. but they were knotted in a double conundrum of indefinable difficulty that no one could seem to understand. see they kept on seeing two - but there was only one. either side could not stand the attack on the either side - ever.

it is difficult realizing how much field you have to clear for a safety. more sensitive to this than to any miniscule infant - yeah. it was THAT bad. thus when he realized he still needed to clear THAT much field - it was no shock.


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