The High Water Mark

The impossibility of communication. The impossibility of saying
precisely what is on one's mind, the awkwardness of it all. He gets up,
begins to dress, wonders about the implications of hoop earrings and
well tailored cotton shirts, hand clad with one solitary ring, silver,
reaching out, reaching out. His mind wanders. The scenario repeats
itself forty miles away, and an hour later. She finds it difficult to
sleep. What does the haircut say about the person underneath? If I
were to say x, would y and z follow? We watch each other like two
battleships passing through neutral waters; guarded, infinitely
curious. The distance from your deck to mine feels unfathomable.

Friday mornings. Sometimes I find that I have far too many
expectations. Well, at any rate, the work party of this weekend is
currently unfettered by, you know, anything the slightest bit more
intriguing. Perhaps I sound jaded, so be it! I feel as though I am
currently on the spin cycle with no inclination as to when the wash will
be over.