Here I am listening to love struck/sick ballads. Tonight it's Ray LaMontagne. It's raining torrentially, the streets are rivers, and I'm missing something about every one of my exes. Lengths of time and place where I'm reminded of how awesome love at some point or another held its presence steadily in my life. A sporadic nature is not an easy one with which to establish much faith between a tumbleweed and a stranger, but a good barrier between the wind and the free range where this tumbleweed would otherwise roam seems about now a desirable thing. The rain sits me down, and these relationships make me feel. So now I'm sitting and feeling the lyrics and tunes playing to me from these speakers, and I'm puzzled about time and space that I now occupy and why it is absent of the steadiness for which I long.
At least I have central heating.
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