A recognition. Yes. I saw her today at work. Collapsible hearts, straight ness's own design, the hair, the jeans, the shoes. Every thing but the eyes. I believe the distance is part her, part of her nowness. Of course it wasn't Jude in the store, but her aura, yes, an aura that profounds and follows my minds. She once uttered words to me that I couldn't here, and would not repeat, leaving me always wondering. Only part of that sentence is true. Anyhow, this woman that is not Jude asked me something I did not understand, and, as I have with Jude, I responded poorly. I couldn't see her eyes.

It's a forward looking that I try for. Five years. I will be here for five more years. I say this now, but really, who is available for emotional discretions for five years. Who can see that movement? I repress the movement as a forged symbol of evenessence. It was faulty. Is. I may return to an emotional past, momentarily, briefly, just to remember what that certain comfort is. I remember it exists, I remember the voice that comes through the phone and turns the cold into the blue late at night, speaking of fears and poetry, keeping company and close enough to touch, but always with a guard, always with a sense that the desire must only remain desire, to go further would be to create another subset of difficulties only one of us was prepared for.

To her aura I say goodnight, and ask her to stay close enough for the contained silence to remove the dissonance of my never wants. I don't know what I ask, what language I am speaking in. Sleep will come as will movement.