It’s out there.

Somewhere along that sinewy, ashen metaphor. Dissecting our world. Connecting us. Moving us further apart.

Forever encouraging the pulse of desire.

“She needs to be chased,” I was told, which hardly made her special, but I was comforted by the fact that I finally had some direction.

I ruminated on this prospect for a few more scenes that evening. Then, during a lull in the conversation, I casually stated, “Maybe you could mention to her that I kinda need to be chased, too.”

“Not gonna happen.”

I reluctantly accepted this reality, and thought about how I would work around it.

What I should have done was just agreed with the truth of that statement. It wasn’t going to happen.

I almost want to say that I don’t even know what’s involved in chasing someone, but the fact is that I do. And I don’t fucking like it.

Capture.

Contain.

Control.

We’re convinced that our own will to self-determination enables us with these capabilities to such a degree that we lose sight of obvious limitations.

Try breathing underwater. Let alone in outer space.

Most of us have trouble being in one place at one time. Let alone everywhere always.

I’m after my own limits.

I don’t want to put any on you.