autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.


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It seems a life time since we spoke; conversations that were free of expectation or demand, pinwheeling dandelion fluff that we batted between us. How fascinating is it that every time I become certain the stormy sea has calmed, like a stone pitched from distance, somehow, regardless the reality that I sought it not, the plop of your presence arrives before me?

Once upon a time, it upset and disturbed me. Now, it merely bemuses. A nod, a smile, a quiet whisper to the ghosts of history; to the present and the future? Nothing, of course.

It no longer seems odd; if anything, it has become something of a comfort. I remember when I was certain that all coins were one-sided and, I must say, it is more than passing pleasant to see the back of you; about the business and business of your life and shed like winter skin the sad suffering of fears unfounded.

Of course, it was helpful for me to realize nothing is unfounded until we see it so.

All’s well that ends.
Ends all that well.
Well, that ends all.

A soft chuckle, at myself of course; then, silence.