A small piece of a joint project forever lost in a fog:

The consequence of being there. Knowing, understanding what is, has been, will never be. The storied past, hours, days, long horrible journeys into the mirror, out through the stained glass portals of faith. There is no substitute. Somewhere in time, if only for a fleeting moment, a beautiful, glorious fraction of life, there exists the meaning.
In a window, nearer to now, the sounds from a street below form some last bastion of peace. Hovers briefly as the television flickers, then disappears into the ether.
A solitary incident, all matter seizes into perfect form, and elements blend toward a white hot junction of benevolence. Time stops. Stops counting, stops meaning, stops lingering.

There is only you.

Breath life into this black chasm. Again.
A twist of plot, sound of sleep, scent of a lifetime passed, and a rush lights sparks throughout a winter evening. Every move becomes an anxious desperate plea held silent since it’s first appearance.

Don’t go this time.

The difference now. Outside looking in. I can see the shadowy figures looming around the rim.
The promise of that moment returning. Defenses turn from dust to a dim candlelit reunion, emblazoned with all the tragic magnificent symptoms of true love.  Tranquility will appear to those who seek it. It only lasts so long.

Now is the time.