two things

walking through doorways

who left a tree, and then a coffin in the library?

one is memory. how many doors must we walk through to forget something? how many thresholds must be crossed?

one is privacy. i’ve been dwelling on the importance of disclosure, the expelling of secrets and the accompanying ghosts, but there is an essential other side to that view. the preciousness of the intact mystery. leaving things whole rather than cracked open, dissected, explained, with its inherant qualities lost in the process. when is it not our business to know the secrets of others, even when those bleed heavily into our own lives? how do we respect boundaries, or the illusion of boundaries, when things spoken and unspoken control the tides of both parties?

in other news, it is november, which historically has been difficult. the trick now is to make sure my own trepidation does not become the cause rather than an effect of the difficulties.

it does feel different this time. but how trustworthy is that?