And life came to dwell on the boundary between ground and sky, in the world of "Perhaps". And life bobbed up and down like a cork on water, sometimes reaching up to the sky and sometimes sinking toward the ground. But always life felt the loving warmth of "Yes" upon it. As do I. And then the breeze slipped past you for good. I'd lick the world off your tongue if you existed. But you don't. Eyes blink from the bushes, arousing my suspicion that they are trying to use morse code or binary to communicate to me that I'm not "appropriate" for this little slice of cartoon forest. How I'd love to carry a torch for you, I'd take it into the bushes and find out what those eyes are attached to. But there's no you, so there's no torch. Just me and the blinking eyes. So I'll sit and agonize, trying to crack their possible code, even though it, like you, may not exist. Grin and bear it, those might be bears attached to those eyes. Bears like the bears in my dreams, the ones that chase me through state parks and honeymoon cottages where I eventually slit its throat and burn its face on a stove top, only to have the defeated nightmare indignantly walk off to go sulk in my subconscious. So yeah, it's just me and the lack of you (ha! A laugh! Can there even be a "lack" of you if there's not even a "you" for me to lack?) and these infernal eyes blinking in potential code. I