#575 Untitled
French, or so they say,
is the language of love. But if
one does not know the language,
it is very hard to tell what is loved
and what is being let go.
That is why communication can be necessary.

(Je ne comprends pas. Mais...
comprends vous? C'est possible.)

Some time ago, I waited for a letter
to arrive in the mail. Sadly, it never
came, but I hold on to the knowledge
that it may merely be lost,
and will bob to the surface when appropriate.
And time and space
are only one part of living. The rest
is a beautiful mystery.

You seem to be everywhere but here, yet
like a kite I spy your bright colors
flagging through the sky. You are a kite
and I am a balloon. We race through the
elements as kindred spirits buoyed in
different ways, but eye to eye with each other,
I think. And yet I have always had difficulty
deciphering you, yet feeling as though I know you.
somehow, very well.

The wind buffets us
but we keep our course.

I have nowhere to go in a hurry,
which means that I am patient.
Any good physician would tell you
this means not to worry,
these things are already what they are
and you already have what you wish.
There is a time sometime where we will exchange each other,
This is a sincere message from a future best friend.