But Then She Was Not Awkward, She

There's No Need To Talk About It, Because The Truth Of What One Says Lies In What One Does.

I Asked Her About Life, And It Was As If She Rummaged Around In A Dusty Chest To Get Me The Answers.

When We Open Ourselves You Yourself To Me And I Myself To You, When We Submerge You Into Me And I Into You When We Vanish Into Me You And Into You I Then Am I Me And You Are You.

The Tectonic Layers Of Our Lives Rest So Tightly One On Top Of The Other That We Always Come Up Against Earlier Events In Later Ones, Not As Matter That Has Been Fully Formed And Pushed Aside, But Absolutely Present And Alive. I Understand This. Nonetheless, I Sometimes Find It Hard To Bear.

Or Is There No Such Thing As 'too Late'? Is There Only 'late' And Is 'late' Always Better Than 'never'? I Don't Know.