Well, here I am.

I am sitting in my bed and the candles are making it even hotter than it already is, but the filament is busted in my bedside lamp and I do have a little hand-fan here. Though lord am I missing my old box fans, even as nasty as they were. The light is red and white from the different votive holders, but it is very beautiful.

I do not feel stable, tonight. I feel lonely. This here is the trouble. There are two faces to what is practical and what is not. And there is the hole in the chest that just plain hates nights like this one-- even, or maybe especially, because this room right now, with the light from the candles and the canopy and the streetlight and the windows and the languid lumps of feline and the glowing spines of books and reflections in the antique mirrors and all-- because it is all so beautiful-- that makes it worse.

It is emotional dissonance.

And the other things that I want, still, more than anything, more than aching.

Patience.

<<agé chose>>

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