If everything were perfect, as it is, how much would we crave disturbance?
The variants that made matter congeal. The idiom that expresses just what needs to be said. The waves within waveforms that ripple through time.
There are connections that never make sense, but they make me feel that I am a part of something. No one knows what. The friend of my nephew who is so gentle, so unassuming and yet so lovely. His exquisite taste. His mild and agreeable manner. His beautiful face. His warm and unfussy friendship. His ease that isn’t untroubled but that knows how to hold on to the core. His generous smile. His diligent gestures as he cooks us a meal that tastes like a dish for the gods. The faintly-haired legs that end in two so shapely feet. I could be here. This presence is one I could glow in forever. I’m sure.
Will ever I be able to find this and know that I have found it?