How Far We Were I did not know how far we were from one another til 2020 blasted into light the light years that had always been between us, like a looking glass intent on showing wrinkled scars where we expected to see youth. Sometimes I wish I did not know how much we do not hold in common. Before, when we were younger, and the world was, too, we felt we could afford to talk of high and lofty love as though it were a concept academic and abstract. It was a more naive and happy time when I had no idea what shape these thoughts would take incarnate in your hands. Before, we could agree on pleasant-sounding thoughts in inoffensive-sounding words, but this year’s traumas tipped our hands and pushed us toward specifics. Yet, it must be better, still, to know, to see which friendships can survive these storms and which were always built on something sinking. It must be better, still, to learn to speak the things we really think, to learn to talk about the things we see so differently― and where we cannot talk, perhaps to let our journeys drift, for now, apart. We could not live forever, anyway, in blind denial of the things each other’s souls truly believe. It must be better to reveal, apocalyptic though it may all feel, and be.