Dee and I have not been getting along that well lately. I have noticed she doesn't show up at the wagons of Master Fonce in search of me very often, nor seek me out in the fields or at the stream. When I have found her, our timing dictates that we have but a few moments together. Those moments are sometimes thick in silence - a silence that either wears as a thick comfort, or prods with steel tipped pauses. Other times our conversations seemed comprised with prickling short jabs at one another. The kind of conversation that I find myself able to watch from the sidelines, knowing I should not say the things I am saying, but quite unable to stop myself - the 'myself' doing all the talking.
It could be the heat, the interminable scorching air that wears on our skin until our every nerve ending is exposed and raw. It could be the particular threads of our lives - where the strokes of forming relationships must be done within the battle of work and scraping out a wealth of living. It could simply be the path a friendship has taken.
I miss her. Even as I seek her less, uncomfortable with the tension that exists. I miss her, even as I slog through my day, knowing fate hardly hands us a moment of rest. I miss her, even as I am comfortable in my solitary lifestyle. The product of being an only child among a world of adults.
I miss her.
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