In vicinity

It is said that there is a place where parallel lines meet. A place just beyond infinity, or perhaps just before it. Parallel lines meet in this place, and pick up where they left off. They meet here, lingering at the fringe of infinity, and they run their fingers through one another's hair. They speak clumsily, the things they want to say to each other are too vast to be said. So much time has passed since they last met. Almost an infinite amount of time, perhaps more. When they touch, the feeling is impossible to describe, incomparable, beyond the most. They are teenagers again, telling each other that no touching was ever so momentous, never was touching so meaningful as their touching. It could be that they are right. All too soon they must say farewell again. It seems like no sooner did they meet than they suddenly had to depart, and after all, is this not the lot of all straight lines? But this goodbye, it is such a long, drawn out thing. They talk about one day staying together, running alongside beside inside each other. Even as they say it, they know it can never be. They are parallel lines, the best they can hope for is to meet again, the next time they are in infinity's vicinity.

Ivan is a Piece of Ham

9:54 a.m. - 2012-09-08