It's three in the afternoon, we haven't had breakfast yet.
I wouldn't have been conscious at noon if it hadn't been for the telephone.
We were up talking until six, stopping to crawl out of bed for a drink of this or a run to the bathroom, we covered every topic from love to lust to stupid mistakes to wha we admire most in people
to how thrilled we are to have met
to Buffy episoes and Colette's retelling of the entirety of season six (it's much better as a story), we argued about the merits of making gaming geeks into the bad guys.
We talked of admiration and self awareness and learning to heal our hurts and we sped off on tangents and lost ourselves to arguing our agreement, we talked of definitions and madness and happinness and numbness and how we refuse to succumb to the numbness anymore.
At some point our night-wandering paths crossed in the dark at the window, staring at the cour, utterly silent for the first time ever, peering up into the suddenly lightening sky.
We crawled back into bed and pledged, again, to stop talking and sleep but the words came again, swirling and dancing, emotions versus reason, how difficult it is to come to terms with being female, how glorious it is to realize that we have things to come to terms with, to heal, to resolve.
How glorious it is to find people who understand that, who feel beyond hunger and exhaustion.
How glorious it is to have had chance let us fall upon each other, how risks are not recklessness, how it made perfect sense to invite her to crash at my place, how she was sure she wasn't heading over to some maniac's appartment either.
And on and forth and finally we slept and dreamed brilliantly coloured dreams and we woke groggy but filled to the brim somehow.
Today we're off to the sewage museum, and more banter.
This weekend we'll try to coordinate with whoever, but it doesn't really matter so long as she has fun before taking off for the next city, the next adventure.
We talked of loneliness and how suddenly solitude seems pushed just a little further away.