Bones.

The urge is there to dig up the bones of the past and re-arrange them - but why?

I only established before that it happens, without even attempting to formulate a credible explanation. In truth, my head was spinning because I'd regressed so badly and so quickly that to try to tease out any reasoning was futile.

The same small of array of thoughts whirr, unbroken and perfect, through my suddenly-agitated head. Yet something is missing. It's as though I have spent a long time learning how walk properly after an accident of some kind. Indeed, I can put one foot in front of the other with the best of them; indeed - I walk! I don't understand, though, why or how I am walking, and any level of explanation is either too straightforward, too complicated, or articulated in a language that I'm certain I've heard but cannot get to grips with.

After two days of deliberation, I think I now realise why I felt the needed to contact 'J,' the South African woman, with such urgency. It is because in re-arranging the bones of the past, taking the charred sticks, long since drained of their life, there is an intent: to re-create them in the present, in a similar - not identical - way.

I speak loosely of 'bones,' but a more precise definition can be arrived at. They are the various (personal not synthetic) aggregates of directed sentiment and action which (from my viewpoint) partially defined the (now defunct) relationship with J. If ever I wanted to be perfect, unimpeachable, articulate, thought-provoking, unflustered, attractive, then it was J who provoked those imperatives in me.

The bones I now wish to put back together are these same Platonic ideals, the same arrows flying steadily towards their ambition - a new, unfulfilled wish, whose vastness is summarised with the algebraic simplicity of 'L,' but the same bones nevertheless. Schematic islands in her infinity, I try to reach them in order that I know where I am.