A random cup of caramel latte

When thoughts have been blocked their normal passage through conception, fertilization and expulsion, they burst from their repression at the slightest provocation, like the sweetness of caramel in an otherwise plain cup of latte.  Back at Supercore – it's been a while. They make the best lattes.

Winter came last week, throwing off autumn's raggedy blanket and shaking loose with drizzly downpours and damp winds.  It's the best weather for a warm cup of latte.

Candice came back, over 10,000 miles crossed to close the breach between our vague aspiring thoughts. In the flesh she came, she came faster than the letter she wrote me while careening through Mongolia. And since she came, all my other thoughts have been squirreled away during this winter of content, to be savored with a good cup of latte.

It feels the same, to hold hands while walking through the East Village, as if she had never left, that comfortable moment disguising the undercurrent of changes that have seeped into our other selves – how many memories have collided and broken off in our time in between, or divergent times and in-actions striving to become active?  But those different memories seems to have made little impressions when our fingers are intertwined in infinite same-ness, like pieces of a puzzles that find their place among the jumbled mess of our uncertain dreams.

And so motion will continue to be in our emotions until some greater force interjects and pleads ignorance.

I've switched off buying cigarettes for meals out and condoms.