Part Eleven.

Sometimes I sit and think, and I still miss her. It's sad when you miss something you never had in the first place.

I sit in this growing humidity. I feel beads of sweat gathering on my back and forehead.

What does it matter how many opportunities pass me by? There will always be another. Another event to attend, another person to court. A life of constant others.

Music swells in my ears, the violin strings gently being caressed by the bow, a sound of sadness in this case. As quickly as they had come, they were gone, replaced by strings of another sort.

Wanting what you can't have seems like such a falsehood. I see it portrayed in creative mediums, but who actually experiences it? More to the point, what would I do were I presented with it as a condition that I suffer from?

Maybe it would explain things.

More sounds enter my ears: water running through the pipes above me. That annoying, sporadic sound.

Usually I go with my feelings to solve a problem. I listen to my heart, but also something else that I can't explain. Something that I hear, but have no words for. I also see things in my head; images that appear random, but again, they speak to me. Right now, I see a whiteish square grid in front of a black background. The grid is made of a thread of some kind, like string . . . but it's tangled. One corner appears limp, falling in onto itself as a result of the loss of its structural integrity; more knots and snags are scattered around the mesh. I feel this is what's happening with my feelings right now.

I know there's something I have to do, but what? And will I be able to overcome my fear to do it?

Maybe some rest will help me untangle these knots.