words [16 Aug 2009|04:26pm] [ mood | contemplative ] [ music | "Vita Nuova" Roberto Cacciapaglia ] Twenty-five weeks of no posts? Was that right? Not longer? I still think of you. On occasion, though you don't know it, wouldn't really even credit it, perhaps, I imagine writing to you. You probably don't think I mean YOU, but I do, even if you don't know me or I you well, or once did better than now that I've not said whatever I'd have wanted--do want--to write or call or send. I don't. Nor is this lack of communication just here; I write no one. Or, I should emphasize, I don't even write to no one. Not little notes to myself, or things I just don't send, or don't intend to send, just write. Not even much of my trivial nonsense, which is about all it amounts to. There are a very few exceptions to this: early morning rambling fatigue that results in notes that would equate to other people's drunken phone calls. Short bits with a specific purpose, also. I aim to renew some of my former habits of recording thoughts/dreams/phantom fictional plotlines, and connecting to others as I can. Because with how EASY it ought to be to contact another, I haven't reached, but withdrawn, from so many. I miss you. But I don't write now, and have doubts that will change much, ever, though much does, and much doesn't. I regret it. 1 comment|post comment

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