autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

Aside to Polaris

I find it odd how sadness, inevitably, brings you into my thoughts. A completely unrelated sadness rises and now, scant hours later, memories and thoughts of you. Amygdala associations, I suppose; patterns tracing over one another and blurring through… and beyond.

Perhaps it is the lingering sense of “home” that binds them; I thought I found a home and lost it… a split-level on a cul-de-sac… and you.

Odd associations, indeed.

I am tempted to journey to the canyon, but I’m not so sure I want to see how the sealed entry fares; how the meadow seems or whether or not the stars shine as clear and bright as when I first found it. I still have the recordings, but I never listen to them. Why would I? I know them by heart. (A pun? Entendre? Sad parallel?)

The surge of ancient tide passes, even now; all my intellect and a goodly amount of my instinct pushing against it and “tsk-tsking” lightly. I am relieved that the inner voice has become kinder with time; a gift I give myself for all the gifts denied.

A wry grin, a shake of the head and then… nothing but the sounds of twilight traffic outside my window and the hum of my computer and the occasional chime of condolences and warm thoughts from friends arriving by text.

A final thought before I force this particular door closed again… how I wish yours was among the number.