Sometimes I think of someone. Sometimes this makes me happy. Sometimes this makes me sad. Often both.

Sometimes occurs quite frequently.

Sometimes I am thinking of this person while I am trying to sleep at night. Sometimes it is when I wake up alone in a room flooded with sunlight.

Sometimes in between as I sleep I find this person in my dreams.

Sometimes a song brings these thoughts to me, and it stays in my head for hours. I sing. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and wonder what I look like through other eyes. I shave my legs, I paint my nails, I wet my lips, I smile.

Maybe when I am biking through the January spring I look around, wondering who I will meet.

Sometimes I am lying next to my fiance and I talk about this to him, and he loves me and indulges me.

Sometimes I don't talk about it.

Sometimes I think of the perfect thing to say. Sometimes I am confident and aggressive and I know what I would do and what I would say and how and I know I would have my way, but there's no one else around. And days pass.

Sometimes even pronouns are too dear and intimate.

Sometimes it seems to drive me mad, I cannot concentrate, I am of little use to intelligent or simple friendly conversation.

Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I can think about it and shrug.

Sometimes a touch will linger for hours. A squeeze around my fingers. A hug goodnight. Hands on denim, thick knits. The scent of a particular shampoo.

Sometimes I leave hesitant answering machine messages

Sometimes I look back and wonder how it all came to be.

Sometimes I am so lonely. I don't know why.

Sometimes I lift silken cloth from singly carven box, cup out glistening orbs of memory, find a particularly shining gem and clasp it. I think I can feel the light leaking out of me.

I sing raptly.

It feels like I am waiting for something.

But how can there be something left to wait for? It's come and passed. It's come and past. And there is so much else that needs to be done. So many other things to think upon. Futures that may be.

Sometimes I think I'll fall into parts.

"And there's no mystical design."