Listening to: the buzz of lights and the ceiling fan.
Mood: I miss you.

I vaguely remember a time when I connected with you on every level. I miss it completely: the quiver of my throat and eyes (closed), enclosed in a friendship hug. It gave me an inkling of proper love, objective and wholly pure, and even the whisper of real sexual anticipation which doesn't say "satisfaction," but "symbiosis."

(I would, in fact, rather need you than want you if that makes things more (or less) clear.)

All the elements are heavy tonight.