Well. I have nothing to explain myself. Two months of silence, and here I am, hat in hand. I could say that I ran out of words, or at least words that I felt I could offer the universe. That is true and yet not fully the truth.
Reminds me of Emily Dickinson's poem:
TELL ALL THE TRUTH
Tell all the truth but tell it slant,
Success in circuit lies,
Too bright for our infirm delight
The truth's superb surprise;
As lightning to the children eased
With explanation kind,
The truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind.
It was a dark and long month of March, for no reason that I can discern other than the inexorable march of time, and my sense of the loss of it. I want it back, all of it.
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