Is that someone waving or just a shadow or a strand of hair on the lens?

The chasm is made up of many things; separateness in things done; an ‘unknown’ part of life – that can never be recovered, reclaimed. Friends are not friends but pawns in the whole game and, like wounded animals, they fail to understand the reasons for the hurt which is not even really intentional.

And my heart bleeds for the chosen road; with the emptiness; for the chasm that has become so big. My heart bleeds and yet there is nothing to stop the flow for the heart must keep beating, pumping, working until it may burst, just to give life to the body that remains.

And if, but it is a big if, things should change in the future and things become something similar to how it was once, before the drifting, these things will not be discussed – or if discussed then only in a very superficial way as if, by discussing them thus, it minimises the impact, minimises the importance. It certainly, as we know from experience, reduces the suffering.

I know he knows.  I hope he knows.  I hope he doesn’t know.  I don’t know if he knows.  I don’t know anything.

I have already told him.  Sort of.  Kind of.  In a roundabout way.  In an obvious way.  In a subtle way.  In a way (of any kind).  Not really told him at all.

I know that what I know is nothing and I want to know everything unless, of course, it is better to know nothing, in which case, I need to know everything so that I can take the informed decision of whether I should know anything or not.  At which point, it is, certainly, too late to know nothing.

And yet, in spite of that, I want to scratch it and I don’t want to forget and I want this pain as if, by this pain, I can tell that I’m alive and that there is hope for me even if there is none.

I hold the torch aloft as if my life depends upon it but unsure if anyone can see the flame.

Even the acrid smell of the dog piss, not there in the cooler morning, but now, with the heat of the day and the many dogs that will have been there, especially now, later in the afternoon, when people come home from work and take their dogs to enjoy (?) the dog areas and do their thing, even that, which reaches into the back of my throat and makes me want to retch, cannot take away my happiness, although I do hurry by, perhaps a little faster than I would or should in this heat, which, now I have reached Milan proper, has fallen to 35.5°.

After the smell of dog urine, it should be a pleasure to be away from it but the smell is replaced by that of humans. It seems like deodorant and perfume sales are down as there are no perfumed smells to be had in this hot city only stale and fresh body odour, as sharp as the dog piss and just as hateful.

She’s a cantankerous old biddy and, I think, slightly crazy as she also seems to beg although I cannot understand her Italian which could be dialect. They (the assistants) all know her in the shop and, undoubtedly, she knows them all by name. She hollers after them and some try to help whilst others try to ignore her.

I remember, because of updating the last post, which is to go live in about 10 minutes, to put the ring on, which is good, I think.

I wish that I had remembered to make you ugly beforehand and then, maybe, all this wouldn’t have happened as I could have focused on the ugliness that I could find – and I would have found something and I would have made that important and overriding and essential even if there was nothing really (and there was/is none) – and then it would have been alright.

Although you had been there before, some years ago now, that was only for a period.  It was expected and you stayed for a while.  Then you went missing although I didn’t really miss you.