She spends a lot of time thinking about me. At least, she does when she’s bored or unhappy.

When she’s busy, her mind is full of ideas and passwords. She has so many passwords that she can’t even remember when she’ll have to call one of them up.

These days, her passwords are nearly all the same. Boring. Irrelevant. They center around an imaginary friend. He’s a real person, but an imaginary friend. She thought for a long time that she liked him, that he was a nice guy, and a sweet person. But really, she liked the person she imagined him to be, the way she remembered him as being when he wasn’t actually around. His actual presence was an irritating reminder that he was really a self-centered childish jerk.

But she kept the passwords. And still has almost all of them now, even though she has nothing to hide.

She wishes she could hide less. These days she’s cold all the time, and little bits of her—earrings, cell phones, keys—get lost in the blankets and jackets she wraps around herself to stay warm. Too often she feels like one of those keys—not intending to get lost in the folds and fabric, but lost all the same, with someone searching for her and cursing her absence, but thinking all the while that she’s not really necessary, that there are other keys and other earrings that go with this outfit, so maybe it’s time to cut the losses and just get going.

She doesn’t want to be a loss. And neither do I. But I can’t help being far off, a distant port of call. I am what I am, and I am where I am. A consequence, a natural outcome.

And Nature is not a friend to either of us. It’s Halloween now, and there are no leaves to be found on the ground. Leaves should fall before snow, and yet the sky remains grey and withholding. No rain, no sun, no leaves, just an undefined seasonless wanting and lack.

Nature has put me where I am, out of her reach, and filled her heart with longing for me. Day by day I drift farther out to sea, like a wave.

Hey, peeps. Send mail to mail@tiny-dog.com.