...focus on the fine indeterminate line...

Janet asked me tonight if I think I'm as cryptic as all that.

Well yes, now that you mention it. Until you cast this self-doubt on me, I did think that I was hidden, enough. Now I'm breath drawn, stricken. You weren't supposed to be perceptive as all this, any of you. It makes things horribly inconvenient for me.

Then she tried to make it better - said that maybe she picks up so fast because she knows the context. Which naturally makes things worse, because why shouldn't people know the context, recognize it, when they *are* the context?

At least I can tell myself I never talk about just one person, just one situation. I seem to have lost track of people's identities. Well, sometimes anyway. At times there are no finite edges and everyone blurs together - a canvas of colours imbued one into the next so that I can't make heads or tails of it. Then other times, everything frighteningly clear and embossed.

Tonight was like a breath of relief, the sigh of calm finally settling around like a dog at your feet. When Melissa and I took a break, and a trip down to Cafe du Crepe and ignored the world outside for a couple of hours. Long past time for that, I missed her so much. She's a beacon this one, always draws me out, draws me up. And I'm her good luck charm - because he called tonight, when I was there. It's like a gift, I swear. Her room is a soft orange and warm, beautiful and renascent, so much like her. Mine is like me as well - a little dull around the edges, but at least everything matches.

I'm completely drained as I write this. I've been reading poetry for the past two hours, out loud, to Janet. Underlining as I speak - did you catch that? Or this line? She's exhausted now.

Repertoire:
Guy Gavriel Kay
Pablo Neruda
Sylvia Plath
Edna St. Vincent Millay
T.S. Eliot

5 months ago, maybe more, Matthew read me The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. I remember being mesmerized and catching Melissa's eyes. Neither of us could believe it, completely awe-struck. I miss him tonight, all his scattered thoughts and poetic notions. I'd send him an email but it would probably be pointless. He still hasn't responded to the last two - but then in another couple of weeks I'll find a little note dropped into my inbox.

BERLIN IS THE FUCKING COOLEST PLACE ON THE PLANET!