The details I will want to remember later on

Coming back to your house, but the first time I've ever been there from the train, or from this apartment.

The first time I let my head fall against your shoulder again.

The one thing I didn't tell you.

Next time we'll try to do what we said we would, and not do what we said we wouldn't.

We are always, have always been, doing the impossible, at least since the night I returned your glance.

Wondering what it would be like to love someone and not have it be too late.

Driving back to my place along Ocean Ave. and "Onward Christian Soldiers" and long Bible reading past the Museum and on to Eastern Parkway. Anyone but the two of us would have changed it.

Perhaps I can't really love anyone unless it is impossible. Which isn't to say--

It would have been different if I'd had my space.

While writing the line about the next time I had the sense that I had already written this post in a dream--because nothing saves a cryptic, telegraphic blog post like a reference to deja vu.

It's not that I don't want everything to align in one person, or anything like that. But that's not what's coming my way right now--so I try to put together what I do have the best I can. But there aren't even comparisons to make.

I didn't do a lot of reading today; I should try to finish some Ruskin before bed. I need more time than I have, but at least my mother is going home--after eight days--tomorrow.