"Yes, I definitely want to talk to you but have become afraid of my emotions getting more and more difficult for me to have more profound conversation... xyz", was the text I got at 1.30 am last night in reply to a message I had sent a week ago (!), asking if I should go for a visit the next day. I was still awake, reading my brain to bits, so I replied with something in the sense of to be careful not to get stuck in tangled emotions by not letting them out or not speaking of them to others.

"Yes, I know, but need time, have been losing myself lately, am doing fine, but I've blocked out my emotions and I don't want that, xyz"

"I saw it happening, you losing yourself � just let me know when you're ready to talk, I'll still be here x"

"Thank you!"

Yet again I scared myself to an utter condition of shock by being so right about what I observed and thought to conclude from behaviour of a fellow being. I wish I was more blind, or I wish I was not able to interpret things the way I do when it is a person I know that I passively analyse. I am glad I never pin down my thoughts on matters I happen to see, as inevitable truths, I am glad I always merely consider my conclusions a possibility and don't state them as undeniable facts... That would make my thoughtful life very hard.

So for the moment I am downcast and patiently, but fretfully and tensely waiting for the needed time to pass and for me to receive any kind of sign implying eagerness to talk. Am doing fine, my arse! I worry. Yes, it is he of whom I speak, and yes, I feel all over again that he does mean so much to me. So much. Not as a lover, by no means at all, but as my dearest friend.

The entire soap series (starting here) we went through is not forgotten about, and not yet settled, not just yet... But I know it will be, and I know I'll once again be able to give him strong, firm, silent hugs and receive them back, I know the comforting arm idly resting on my back as I lean forward doing my work while we sit side by side (similar to moments described five months ago) will exist again, I know the worthiness is back.

I hate myself now, for sitting here, for pretendedly thinking my lack of certain important activities justified, just because I balanced out my mood somewhat by writing my partially re-occurring frets down. It is greatly frustrating how I have not played violin all day, I have not given myself the time, nor mind, to study righteously. And the more I sit and fret about it, the more I hate myself and feel annoyed, and the more I just don't want to play anyway. The latter being even more frustrating, and that just puts me back to square one. It is too late now, too, to start playing. For crying out loud!

I want to take Y. down south for a weekend, I want to stay at my grandparents' peaceful house near the woods for that time. I want to take him there to give him the opportunity to introvert for a while and find his inner self again, I want to take him there for us to busy ourselves with what is the warm essence of both our lives: musicianship. I want to take him there to play duets all day and night, duets consisting of the wondrously wonderful combination of a bassoon and a violin. It is what elicited our friendship in the very beginning. It is what we love. Wholeheartedly.

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I feel so