parabolic

A confirmation that what I felt more obligated than anything else to give a chance to now confirmed, I can't say I didn't try, because I believe that love is gradual, a slow burning rather than a quick flameup, and sometimes we just don't spark and that's okay. At least it's evident and not existing in that ambiguous unspoken limbo that in the past was all too familiar. We weren't meant to be, and not for lack of trying, or maybe realizing we weren't trying as hard as we could.

I got together with some friends from India who got married this summer, me and her go way back and there's always that unknown factor of the second half whether or not it fits so well like he's always been there or if he sucks the air out of the room and it's thankfully the former, as we devour biryani  and catch up, talk about God and politics and J's just-now discovering of the awesomeness of Tolkien, and tell stories and I always like hearing what nonamericanskis have to say about how we do things. The time is liquid and the curry hits our system all narcotic and by this time I'd missed 3/4 of that show that Randal went to and I'm trying to stay awake driving to the house of the jungle puppy.


I know my time with them is limited, that it's either Bangalore or Texas in the near future, that this apartment where I've spent so many happy evenings will someday belong to someone else, that all around here everything is changing, that everything is constantly in a state of flux, which is okay and beautiful and bittersweet, a perpetual cycle of loss and gain.