fourth

its never going to snow around here. december 16th and no sign yet. its been almost exactly two years, shows what can happen in two years. so i'm wondering how a feeling can stay but all actions around it can stop. how emotions can run in such strong threads that without touching them they can float to the surface and lead the way, especially if that way has no set course. i'm wondering how, without looking at these strings, you can still know that they are true even when whole lives have been built without consideration of them, opposite them. when all the bull shit is torn down, what is left are a few hurt feelings, perhaps something irreparable, and those beginning, deconstructible stings. so he sits across from me and hes crying. he can't stop crying he so exhausted - because i'm sad and hes done it. and yes he has, but its hopeless. who can be that empathetic anyway? who can embody such grey that, even though what should be is continually evidenced and continually undetermined, he holds those strings in his hands, pays homage to them with both hands over his eyes, while he lives other ideals so crossed and tangled that all we can do is look at the past but not be it. so i don't know, it hasn't snowed yet this year and there is no potential for it building. the air isn't electric, nothing is on the cusp. we know it will come but it doesn't matter when. its just one incomprehensible upon another, and sometimes there isn't a motif to be learned of it all, sometimes there isn't a reason. sometimes there's just shit to sort through. and so i wonder if betrayal has to come with this sort of thing. whether is it an inevitable. because it seems like, even though everything was so well calculated, so empathetically worked, that i would be lucky, if not presumptuous, to assume such an easy heart break again.