Things didn't go exactly as they were supposed to. I ended up talking to Jon for a long while this evening. Strange things got said, and I can't quite sort through any of them anymore right now.
We are some sort of painful muse. He's writing a book about me and my house. I'm writing a song about him in C minor. There are a million little dimensions to every word we say to one another, every thought we have. There is too much there to work on.
