I missed you being here. You were there, and then you were here again. How could you ever not be here with me? How to imagine another place with you there and not here? I couldn’t ring you. You couldn’t email. You are an ache. You are the pain of not having your presence. You are your own life, always. How can you be? This floating. You flying. Away. Back. Here. Where and here?
6.50 pm, 21 November, 2011.