i think for a while, i collapsed into myself. i was unable to articulate what i felt and the right words never came to mind, the ones that did were unsatisfactory and expressed too little.

such is language. it is a vehicle, it is a medium, it is also a trapping.

i am slowly getting to my feet again, but to be honest, the path is not clear. i have not shaken off the dust that covers me and i don't think i'm going to yet. for now, i'm just standing. i've gotten up from that crumpled heap on the floor.

i still think about you and wonder where your story has led you. all i know is that i've picked up the pen and started writing again.