Mainly uneventful days; sojourns into the city that hardly qualify, hardly satisfy the term; the briefest of days; a children's park, a carousel, ice cream as we walk around a lake; ducks, boats, people; a chill in the shade of the trees, within the breeze; tears, always tears; a potato chip that was bitten vertically; the sudden and unexpected pains.
Last night, I stood on the pavement of a parking lot and contemplated the crescent moon, its impossible distance, hostile cold and heat, both visible.
... swear not by the moon, I thought... the inconstant moon.
I lie here now, flat on my back, looking up at the crescentless ceiling, wondering on the non-metaphysical qualities of life, of pain. The difficulty appears to be in the framing of the questions.
Last night as I slept, I dreamed of a town so small that it was just a stop sign that people gathered around at Christmas.