A rather brittle hello from me Again, we speak in unison. And in the next part of our conversation I remember why I love his company - The flow, how our words dovetail and intersect. It proves nothing. I think it proves that we get on. It proves nothing? I make him laugh. Then the chink of coffee cups, and spoons and cupboard doors. Falling leaves of sound, deliquescing into a room full of heavy air. Full of potential and a silence as thick as woollen blankets. This is is an old house - Each time I arrive I look at the steps that lead to the door. I put my feet down slowly and carefully in the worn out sagging stone, to match the memory of foot-fall, and wonder who else, who else? And how they were as they stepped as I step now. Happy, sad, in love - people alive, and people dead. He "Brought your gear? It feels a little cold in here, I've put the heating on. I hope you are warm enough?" Me - "It's been really cold, yes. Water is now 8.5 degrees centigrade -
Eros in therapy.