So what, who, were we, are we to each other?

Doors open to other realms (but how long can you stay within open doors)? We felt each other right away, like animals smelling their own kind. But what of it? is it enough?

Old issues are just covers - both in musical and metaphorical sense. They're covers of old happenings which will or won't happen again, no one can tell; they cover up the fact that until we move on with our individual lives, we don't have much to say to each other. We each have a desperation, but those desperate needs don't quite match now. They may match later, when we work ourselves out.

It's time for me to pick myself up by the scruff of my neck. I will look. I will search. I will consider. I will find. I will find my way out, and I hope he will, too.

Something has broken, and I can't tell if it's for better or worse, an ending, a beginning, both. I am here, right here and now, and I need to live in it. Again, after September, comes the "shelving" time; after we're both done, we can, perhaps - reconverge...

I'm not saying it's easy on me. Not at all. But it's simple. No sacrifice, we had said, and early on, too. Not even subconscious version of sacrifice. Because if there was sacrifice, not only we wouldn't forgive each other: we wouldn't have forgiven ourselves.