About, again

And this is what connects us--we share a brain. We share a bit of experience. Some past. Some tendrils between us. We both loved X. We both understood that and it held us together once. We both love fiction. We both love it when the veil of fiction drops. We both love conflict, in our way. Conversation. Argument. Exteriorizing things. We both lash out. We both withdraw. We both love art, though the art we love is not always the same. We both stock our houses with tons of shit. We line our nests. We love the cold. We've been close to death, you closer than me.

It may not always seem the case but I think of you. I think of you because when I think of you I think of me, of all of us, of our fathers, our lovers, what makes and keeps us human. It's the brain. It's a chemical mix. It's memory. It's shared experience. It's what we remember, the truth, or at least an overlapping version of events, somewhere hopefully between us, as if strung out on a piece of spider silk, its tensile strength shocking considering how it moves in the wind.