Back into the warmth. Or did the warmth come from the book. Early on, an easy understanding of the many levels of consciousness; given to me through Jung's interpretation of his early 30's dream.
My arm is warm, the thin pullover clings ever so lightly; these are the paths my mind now wanders along, the slightest of touches, the merest of movements invoking memories of a gentle love, a love even more gently imagined, a memory so easily painted with soft lights and warm colours, a time past that lives fleetingly as a time present, an energy that reminds me that the warmth did not come from the book, the warmth came from within me, a warmth within that has loved and lost and loved again. Such a warmth that reminds me, that the loss of love is not a love lost but a love that waits to be rediscovered, whenever the warmth calls by.
