The hand that shields the candle

I’ve noticed so many changes in you
A long time ago there would have been questions
Checks and checksums
There are vague recollections of past procedures
Instincts
They seem fiction
Perhaps they are
Non-real things that are part of some translation
A fantasy of logic and pragmatism
Memories of other things too like progression
The evenness of time
Pinnacles
Peaks and troughs
None of it makes sense
Or perhaps it didn’t then
Fantasising about knowing the measure of things
And as a child I yearned for coloured magic
Magical creatures and astounding science
Some of those things seem more real
Despite the yearning now gone
Some changes are incremental
Some absolute
Stretched
A thing that in some ways resembles the past
Logically traceable paths to where they have evolved
Others in locations so far removed
Resembling nothing at all
There are so many places that are not one place
So many to be in at the same time
Then the sensation of the mirror-world
Everything resembling everything else exactly
But reversed
A reversed familiarity
This perhaps is a good translation of living practical life
Backwards languages
The lack of intimacy
Brief indulgences and the pauses between things
And I find myself seeping into the spaces between
Those things that remain private
Always private
It is a very singular, very isolate sensation of love in many dimensions
Very specific
And I borrow words from pragmatic memories to paint it with
It’s vague
An abstract
Abstracts of abstracts of abstracts
I am very close to being convinced that I will always fail to explain it to you
It distresses me that you may never understand
It’s important
It’s important that you understand
To me