Sometimes, just sometimes it can seem as though the world can make sense, as though these shapes and colours that flow around us could be placed in some kind of order. Sometimes it seems that the way we touch each other, tentatively, almost reluctantly, could bring with it a whole new world of significance, as if those first hesitant buds of possibility could burst into a new flower of meaning and take us on through this uncertain spring of our knowing each other into the full summer of our lives.
Other times though, we catch ourselves glancing across at each other as though we have become strangers once again, as though some kind of alien B-movie has infiltrated our lives and we must play out this script of misunderstanding and suspicion even though we know it is only a film, and a very bad one at that. We catch ourselves wondering why we ever signed up for such a unlikely scenario and hackneyed plot as this. So many people, times before have played out these scenes before us. It is nothing new, or that strange.
After all, so many people before us have fallen in love; it is not as though it is anything new.
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