I woke, as you know after the turn-around, from Saturday night to Sunday morning and having finished Sunday, the end of my week, and I thought of you because we share a “flight or fight” work mode. I remember distinctly you having to rush to get to work and then the long hours and deadlines. I felt for you; I knew what you felt, not wholly, but in part, and I didn’t want to get in your way because I knew it was like straw on the camel’s back. But, I admired you and I loved your apartment, the way you dressed, your gorgeous body and face, your sweetness, your tender heart, your mind, the books and love of literature we shared. That’s what I love about you besides the fact that I was in love with you. You are a tender mist of holographic image and energy and I watch you in my mind from time to time and I recognize these moments as the beauty in life and the truth that I shall forever hold as the purpose of being. Every other distraction falls away. I will remain at a distance because in my mode, I am a eunuch, impotent, unable to indulge attraction and desire. We live on the edge of the world at a desk, where the papers keep piling up and we cannot attend to them gracefully but eventually with horror as our lives tick with moments of fun that harbors caution and we are never really free and our conversations with others, whom we trust are little excursions of expressive openings, daisies through cement. And I just know this is love. Never is it as great as the love an African-American shared or shares with his people, which is twisted beyond recognition, as soulful, as forged as steel in the molten metal of both poverty and enslavement because they were brought here as slaves and generally reminded of their station for no reason other than that they cannot change the color of their skin, born to something they cannot control. Theirs will always be far greater than our suffering, but we can glimpse it and love. But, it is almost impossible to do so because it speaks of a suffering we could never endure and it embarrasses me. So, I see you in this light. I see you also in your black panties and nothing else as you stood in your living room with the lights on and I thought of the neighbors, who must be able to see you and I said nothing. I think love is like that and I miss you.