Looking forward to nothing

Finally, off to the US in a few more hours. Damn tiring summer, this one. Bloody exasperating too.

I tried to be patient, I really did. In fact, I think I did a better job than anyone else could be expected to. Is it really so hard to understand that I don't really care all that much about some things? Is it really impossible to listen to what I have to say, softly as I may speak? Why can't I just be left alone to think things through? I am capable of so many things, and this is the least of them. So leave me to think things through.

Other than irritation, a fairly unemotional summer. Or more precisely, a more emotionally chilled out summer. I felt nothing but the slightest of ripples, though by all reports, others felt quite a bit more. No more hidden messages, or suspicions of them. I made peace with some, had to declare war again swiftly on one of the same. I'm a nice chap, but please don't claim that I am something that I am not.

One moment of forgetfulness did bring the single moment of pain. A collection of photos, two faces close together, smiles slight and massive, unsuited to their frames. Pain, for a moment. You're worth much more than that, but what can I say? I don't know so many things, that I think it presumptuous to feel joy or sorrow on your behalf.

No more summers then. The last one is past, and nine more months of nothing loom.