Eight and half tales told over as many miles. Stretched out in broad ribbons of internal musing under moonlight shadows. The silent sibilant hiss of midnight mist adds several dozen stones to every step. My old, creaking knees protest with sharp and steady reminders.
Despite my shadow running beside me with clear and strident steps, I'm disconnected from it by an ocean of fog. An analogy for the muted distance that grows between us, day by day.
No words can puncture the veil between us; it's been built strong and reinforced by years of not speaking of it. And I don't know how to circumvent it. Nor tear it down with neither words nor hands.
Yet our abrupt illusion of contentment, twined with genuine laughter, dissolves it instantly; burned away- for a time- the same as sunlight shearing the nighttime haze.
11:34 p.m. - 2015-01-13
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