i am trying to come to terms with gravity as i fall toward the floor with the awareness of the your face framed in the hall door. that's an exaggeration— there's a certain inaccuracy in conversations about bodies, personal and celestial, revolutions one around the other, that is unavoidable due to limitations of the form. so i like to be precise where it can fit in between the cumbersome dances we do. i'm not falling toward the floor but i might as well be. i can't tell you that. what's wrong you ask again but something i read about planets is that they're much farther apart than the human mind can even conceptualize. that most of space is empty and cold as we dare to spin through it. i'm thinking of the audacity of revolutions and you just wanna know why i'm so sad. i think about bodies. sinew and joints and the red ****** meatstuff that fills in the places in between. a heart pumping blood and a mouth that refuses to admit it. about the physicality, the weight of it sinking into beds that aren't mine, bodies that aren't mine. you're not standing in the doorway anymore, no one stands in doorways forever. especially not for someone who refuses ownership of the space taken up by their own body. constellations are outlines of disparate points someone tried to find a story in. i'm not much better. i think of heavenly bodies, i think of stars but they don't tell me anything i wasn't trying to deal with already.
Parting is such sweet sorrow, Reeling with joy From precious moments shared; Then sadness at being apart, Pangs of unhappiness, Spasms of loneliness, All the more acute, When preceded by such Exquisiteness.