One step further away. That is where you always lived. You loved the moment between the present and the future. One second after what was happening now. This -and. That -and. The satisfaction in the -and in your world. The second further than you could reach. The suspension at the end of your breath- before you inhaled again.
That’s where I saw it. Some obsessive satisfaction in what you could never quite have. I thought that was why you strived to learn languages, to attempt to master something that would never be quite complete. That you could never quite master, but still you could live in it.
You were not a perfectionist. You liked the adventure. Your purpose was not in finitude, craftsmanship, becoming the artisan. You were at the cusp of what was happening, and then you wanted to know more, do it differently. You didn’t want to have things done neatly, and rightly. You wanted to grow things, innovate them, move them, and propel them, so that they too, lived in the space that was a second further than your grasp. Always, always out of reach.
You hated to live in what you’d learnt. You wanted to live in learning. I thought maybe that why you asked me questions about faith, or my faith. Because, sort of, like you- I lived in now- and then- and both of us, hope for something more eternal, something that we cannot quite grasp. But still it’s right here. It’s on the tip of our fingers, on the tip of our tongues. If only we could hold it and carve it into words.
Still, and we maintain that time is warped and possibilities are endless and we have this physical life here and now, while our mind wanders and we see stars in our thoughts we live between here, now and then.