imminent Cole Who else will care so truly about what I feel? or maybe it's just because they can't feel it Who else will konw me as you do? perhaps they simply can't comprehend Who else will love me as I am, with that which is truly them, and none of the rest of the world? Who really can do that? ...I may regret writing all that I have here, one day, when I get fed up with me and find a suitable distraction. I will probably want to never again read about what I feel now, how purely dear this all is to me. I will probably only want to remember the pain and dismiss the pleasure as inflated hindsight. The truth is, I couldn't ever remember sufficiently how truly good I feel to be with you. I can't even remember now exactly how it feels to be in your presence. True, my memory does suck, but I prefer it that way, because to remember would be misery because I can't be with you now. I hope one day I can read this all and know that this really did happen - it wasn't a dream, it wasn't a lie. I wasn't fooling myself; you were real... I hate letting go, feeling it slip gradually away. I can't help it. I can only not rush it. I'm afraid it will end now.. no, now! no..when? soon! but not yet. yet, now, then; strange words that mean so little in comparison to this. People get married, divorced, make what love they have and live as they can, or as is easiest or sometimes even hopeful of a better life here. It's that hope that makes me anxious. This is my better life here, and I worry about the end of this - but really does it matter: sooner, later... regardless, it will end, as will life. I can cherish what time I have with you and endure the end when it comes. Life will go on a bit more after that, however. That will be painful. Maybe then I'll join the rest and seek easy living to ride it out. I'm getting my taste of heaven with you; I know now that it will be all be worth it in the end. 021115 what's it to you? who go blather from