It became clear yesterday that I had to readjust my position in relation to you. A step back and a shuffle to the left and then I was able to look at you once more, perhaps even to see you. Bad news travels fast and no news is the best news there is. Your decisions reach me as shocks – little shocks mostly – reading 3.5 on the Richter scale. These shifts, these openings and closings, marking tiny movements in your survival strategies, details arising from seismic sunderings, decisions that swim up like primitive monsters from the deep places, and might explode in the changing pressures of our current preoccupations.
And we talked of our desires, our dreams.
You said you were already living your dream . . . a dart that I twisted to avoid, dug into my ground, found I was balanced on an edge . . . but talking can be like that – never knowing where I left the cliff edge of trauma lying about in wait for a careless moment.