We have our own expressions, differences, but that is life, not love. And there are reasons, reasons to end the effort, but I still try (and think you want me to try), to move, to make something physical happen that could be an indication of love. We smile. Talk, Laugh. We look to each other. And always that emotion. But there’s an empty line here, somewhere. Physical separation. Sometimes I wish for an end to that separation. We had it once, but I lost my balance, and we let go so we wouldn’t fall. Beautiful things happen with separation. And there are reasons. I see the wishes, and the “only ifs” in me. And I understand them; but they have their own domain.

February 1971