Two years ago at dinner time with sausage and sunlight.

He told me he missed me. I didn't count how many times. But in the past two days he told me he loved me twice; so casual, so benign, but so sincere.

I have something important to say but I refrain from stating it. I'm afraid of the delicate line which only exists in my introspection. When I look upon him I see everything: what is now and what could be. I see through him and I see with him. I have everything I want now. I don't want anything more. I anticipate something but I keep from elaborating. There is a delicate line --

(it's hidden in snow).

We laughed. It hurt. We called. It returned:
(I'll never long for anything ever again).