8:13 p.m. - 2001-06-03
reach
I remember the feel of his skin right when he woke up, peering at me from under hooded lids as if he was wondering where the world had come from. Warm and curiously alive, as if the blood directly underneath was flowing more freely than most people's blood flows.... He never understood why I would always take his hand at those moments, or why I always wanted to sit with him while he slept. It was because I'd never felt a calmer peace wash over the air than when he was relaxed enough to let it. Awake, the effect was different, still calm, but a quicker pace, always waiting for him to say something, anything... anything to part his lips and provide even a fleeting glimpse at what ran through his head. I never knew. I never will know. I entertained thoughts of a connection, but as tangible as he is, my own reaching mind no longer finds anything but black, not just him, but anywhere now. I feel like something has curled up tight and refuses to unwind again.

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