Ostensibly the brightest, biggest moon in twenty years. There was a moonlit path cutting through the bay, glistening on the shivering waters, and I wanted to take a kayak out in the middle, that illusory path, so badly.
Then the moment slipped from my grasp, of course. Does it matter, really, how much you have of someone? You only gets bits and pieces, anyway, like handouts in open, begging palms. However much you manage to know about someone, they will always manage to surprise you, perhaps grievously. There is no apprehending the infinity of the other, and our desperation to is what instigates our fall, every time, all our artless groping for comfort, false intimacy, playing at love till our fingertips are seared through with its heat, and no satisfaction. You disappoint yourself too, every time. Sometimes I think I do this to myself.
On the other note, counting down three weeks. History studying is going slowly, and I can almost taste panic building.