I am somewhat in a Damien Rice state of mind over this. It's really a cocktail of sweet melancholy and a swirling wonder with just a few grains of hope dusted on top.
In another sense, and in another part of my mind, I am more so in a Difranco state of mind, where "the little plastic castle is a surprise every time". For me this plastic castle is the warm and good people that, lookin back, actually have been strewn in my path like trip wires. And it's true that if now I am not fifteen feeling some deep fear about the world and life, it is because these ten years have I have been seeing these wonderful people climb from the sea shore onto my previously desert island and setting up camp, growing crops and basking in the sun. Looking around today, it would be wrong not to call it populated.
Reflections
After she left I noticed that, in merely three hours she had emptied my apartment completely.
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