The gift of his drowsy languor was a softening of his thoughts and heart. An expansiveness that was so vulnerable; that, paradoxically, it wished to protect itself from a world that so often misunderstood such expansions. He loved his friend. They were so very different and yet—when it came to deeper matters of body and soul—so very alike. He had never before realized that he had developed an inner clock; one that was synchronized to their connection. And once a week, the day before their time together, he heard its tick.

At other times awareness of his interdependence made him quiver with fear. He decided to stay with the beautiful truth of it that morning: a grounded longing. A desire for time and connection. For easy understanding. He longed for things simple and pure and true. He smiled. No, he chuckled at himself. For a moment he realized the silliness of his reverie. He realized that all if it could have been reduced to something so simple: I miss my friend and I look forward to seeing them.

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