Beats Entropy

  I am largely undone by distance.

The pockets of the external reality that resonate are clustered together in handful of city blocks. Once something moves past that boundary they fall afoul of my limited capacity for object permanence; still valued, but more favoured myth than real thing. I suppose I never really bought into the objective truth of outside world, so without some proof of immediacy things rapidly decay into the hypothetical. I honor my past and distant present with the devotion of lapsed catholic. Family, places, and old loves pass into reverent fiction; longed for in principle, but neglected in practice.

 Rarely though, someone becomes bound to my narrative sufficiently that the story loses meaning in their absence. Not meaningless, certainly, but the plot tends to wander when they’re gone. I suspect these few are broad enough in character that they can only be properly resolved from a distance. Their impact diffuses into a warm blur up close; a low grade catalytic haze forcing subtle changes of state. It’s not until they are an intractable distance away that you ever really see them, or register how fundamental they have become.

 All of this is to say Esmeralda is very far away and I miss her a surprising amount. Also: I badly overwrite things/mix my metaphors when I am lonely. By the time she returns to this Continent I will likely be putting forth the prose equivalent to “The Cure” songs and be embarking on the fifth part of “AJ Valliant arbitrarily ranks: the echoes of his vagabond soul”. You folks may want to jump ship while you have the chance.