• It feels as though you've been reading my mind the past few days and addressing my insecurities, as your initial return to this conversation left me confused and hurt. When you withdraw and I can no longer feel you in whatever imaginary space this is, I wonder again if I've just imagined this entire thing. The entries that followed left me hungry and aching, though I'd rather feel the persistent dull pain of longing, of delayed gratification, which I have learned perversely to enjoy, than the piercing despair of having been discarded, forgotten, no longer worthy of time or energy. I still don't know if that was the intended effect, or if you are talking about someone else now, so my desire is tempered with sadness and caution, guarding against being hurt. But when you talk of exile and return, my entire being perks up as though you are speaking to it directly, then surrenders to a compulsion to flow on an invisible current to you. Flowing now, flowing through.

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