Once Upon A Time There Was A

At Times I Believed That The Last Page Of My Book And The Last Page Of My Life Were One And The Same, That When My Book Ended I'd End, A Great Wind Would Sweep Through My Rooms Carrying The Pages Away, And When The Air Cleared Of All Those Fluttering White Sheets The Room Would Be Silent, The Chair Where I Sat Empty.

The Truth Is That She Told Me She Couldn't Love Me. When She Said Goodbye, She Was Saying Goodbye Forever. And Yet. I Made Myself Forget. I Don't Know Why. I Keep Asking Myself. But I Did.

I Knew That To Find And To Feel Yoav Again Would Be Terribly Painful, Because Of What Had Become Of Him, And Because Of What I Knew He Could Ignite In Me, A Vitality That Was Excruciating Because Like A Flare It Lit Up The Emptiness Inside Me And Exposed What I Always Secretly Knew About Myself: How Much Time I'd Spent Being Only Partly Alive, And How Easily I'd Accepted A Lesser Life.

Life In General In My Experience Gets Deeper And Deeper, More And More Profound, More And More Complex, The Older One Gets.

...our Eyes Locked In One Of Those Looks That Sometimes Happen Between Strangers, When Both Wordlessly Agree That Reality Contains Sinkholes Whose Depths Neither Can Ever Hope To Fathom.