Sunday, June 13, 2010
Thinking of you on the penultimate eve of your departure. You must be very busy, blazing about to get everything done. I remember you going into bursts of overdrive, I don't imagine that's changed. It's how you get so much done, in part. I remember you bought a long, very heavy coat for your very first trip, going into winter. I watched, increasingly from the periphery, as you, chatting with your brother, planned and packed and prepared. You were gone long before you left. I cried at Turn of River. I have come to surmise that in the end you chose who you did because you sensed the person (especially after the initial mess) had stout qualities: the ability to not miss you to the point of pain, and to cast a blind eye -- so long as never formally confronted - the one hard rule, sharply fought, no uncertain terms -- against stuff that I never could have. I sense what the person got in return, and can imagine what the person may have given up (though it was, I think, endurable). You got what you required, and what was required. But - what got quashed? I picked someone who I felt wouldn't drive me crazy, but there was a heavy price to pay.