Looking at someone again and again to soak in some ineffable change in countenance.
Reading a book that's like paddling on swells in the lake.
Listening to a coworker laugh over something so stupidly ridiculous that most people would be frustrated, until tears nearly ran down his face.
Sitting comfortably in my drafty 60-degree house (apartment) because of four beautiful and comfortable garments, a good pair of socks, and my trusty slippers.
Flipping into a magazine, finding a print ad, a photo that I want to live in, that I had seen before and forgotten.
It's not that I've had nothing to share lately. I don't know that anybody reads; of those that read, that any understand. Heck, I can't describe what any of that is like; I spent most of a 45-minute train ride sitting with one of those experiences, (or the sense of it or my memory of it, but to say I sat with the experience itself is yet somehow closer to the truth) - with a few sentences in "The Waves" interspersed here and there; after all, I meant to spend the time reading - still couldn't get more than a stumbling phrase around it, a perfect phrase, that nobody may understand except me. What do I say? "You feel great" is the closest I can get to a thought on something, and it's so accurate yet so imprecise that the only time it'll be understood is in the moment before the brain grabs onto a percieved misuse of language - and are most people even capable of dwelling in that moment for long enough to register it?
I percieve thusly. How does anyone else percieve me? The people that see me frequently, and what of those whose only window into my world is the one I draw? How does it seem?