I listen to Kaki King and my mind drifts away into mountain fog, soaring through the dense fabric of the atmosphere, swimming in a blanket of grey mystery.  In an instant, I see every woman I’ve ever touched, every pair of lips I’ve kissed.  And these lips are touching another, passing on the life of inspiring romance, passionately dwelling in the now, the here.  And after waves of disappointment, of unreasonable jealousy, I’m pulled away, floating once again in the deep abyss of the open sky and I remember how small and desperate we all are.

Just like the ebb and flow of clouds, wisping through space, it can never be mentioned too many times our overwhelming connectedness.  The idea, in and of itself, is silly and perhaps, almost as cliche as we are.  But so are all truths.  And from down here, it’s hard to see you in me and me in you.  It’s difficult to decipher why she left him, why he sleeps alone, why she runs without stopping.  But from up there, it’s all space; it’s all movement.  And in a blink, it’s gone, just as quickly as it appeared.

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