The Certainty of Uncertainties.

We always put ourselves in circles. We are sharing, we are taking turns.

'I am writing lists' I told them. 'I am writing them down so the words stick and then there is room in my head' 'I am surrounding myself,' I told them. 'I am enveloping myself, I am indulging in people who are good to me'.

We are nodding, we pretend to listen while we wait for our turn, while we mentally compose that chorus of words.

'I play golf' he told us and I looked around, as though to say 'who is this guy?!', just in case anyone else was wondering the same thing.

You are so far away, when you are not precisely here. And when I can not take you by the shoulders and look up into your face, the dimensions of you escape me. And those are but other peoples words , until a time when I can see them leaving your lips, and can hear them in all their sincerity and can feel that they are yours. For you are so far away, except when you are exactly here. And your love, it disappears, unless i am enveloped and encompassed and consumed by it. And I wonder if this bed has always been so cold, if perhaps you are just keeping me warm inside by filling a place in my mind. In your truancy, I do not remember the colour of your eyes or if I ever really see them when you are around.