Woke Up This Morning With A Terrific

All This, All Of This Love We're Talking About, It Would Just Be A Memory. Maybe Not Even A Memory. Am I Wrong? Am I Way Off Base? Because I Want You To Set Me Straight If You Think I'm Wrong. I Want To Know. I Mean, I Don't Know Anything, And I'm The First One To Admit It.

I Loved You So Much Once. I Did. More Than Anything In The Whole Wide World. Imagine That. What A Laugh That Is Now. Can You Believe It? We Were So Intimate Once Upon A Time I Can't Believe It Now. The Memory Of Being That Intimate With Somebody. We Were So Intimate I Could Puke. I Can't Imagine Ever Being That Intimate With Somebody Else. I Haven't Been.

It's Akin To Style, What I'm Talking About, But It Isn't Style Alone. It Is The Writer's Particular And Unmistakable Signature On Everything He Writes. It Is His World And No Other. This Is One Of The Things That Distinguishes One Writer From Another. Not Talent. There's Plenty Of That Around. But A Writer Who Has Some Special Way Of Looking At Things And Who Gives Artistic Expression To That Way Of Looking: That Writer May Be Around For A Time.

There Is No Answer. It's Okay. But Even If It Wasn't Okay, What Am I Supposed To Do?

I Dressed And Went For A Walk - Determined Not To Return Until I Took In What Nature Had To Offer.