You only love what you cannot touch, for you know that your touch would mar any object of love beyond recognizability. You love what is fleeting only because it has no regard for you, can never be hurt or destroyed by you.

And you dream of being equally untouchable, you sit and think of the perfect love: some divine dualism where each regards the other equally and neither is capable of inflicting pain or suffering it.

People generally don't understand how this could be love. They're so used to, so hardened by, being with one another that they just assume love always entails pain.

We watchers of cloud, tracers of stars, we collectors of broken glass and broken light, we who love with camera and pen, with mind and soul, we know.

Jody-from sound to sense

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They'd advertise -- you know!

Where Did I Wake Up?
Where did I wake up? where am I? Where’s
my right side, where’s the left? where’s above, and
where’s below?