i feel like the only person in the world who is as devoted as i feel
to the inherent value of something like the shadow of a window
frame cast on a ceiling by a streetlight in a dark, quiet room

like i should be allowed to spend as much time as i want in any building i want,
because i'm the only person who'd really get the value of that! (joking a bit)

if my friend hadn't booked that particular airbnb at the end of june, i wouldn't even know the way that that orange light
streamed in through those blinds, across that arrangement of walls. i'm still thinking about that. it was important to me

it's like... i keep thinking i've found someone, but then they can't even appreciate this. or worse,
reflexively do some kind of bathetic distancing from the idea that something as mundane as
a room could actually mean something to them. & to me that speaks to some kind of divide

being around people is draining, & unpleasantly distances me from myself, insofar as it obliges
me to temporarily forget all of this in favor of some gratingly mundane, mercenary, "casual"
(above all else everything has to be so "casual") style of processing events & spaces

having to exist as a social being. having to have all the true, wordless qualities
of events & spaces supplanted by their constant refraction through language

for as lonely as i tend to feel, i guess i really really do relish solitude. & what i want with respect to my
loneliness is at least one person i am... similar enough to that i could share solitude with them, in a sense

but not in the sense of mutual escapism in the same room, i think!
that doesn't feel like shared solitude, it feels like shared isolation

& it's not that, if we were in that room with the shadow of the window frame, that we would have to stay
quiet, as much as whatever we said would feel like the preservation of the solitude... because, well, it
would just be "right," in the real "love" way that is useless to bother trying to articulate