Casualness

Maybe because it is a Monday, or rather the Sunday before the start of the work week that makes us a tad exhausted already.

We glance upon each other like a skipped stone thrown across a pond...a few hits here and there ultimately to sink to the bottom and join the others.

There is a bit of casualness in our interactions...a bit of subtlety and brush-bys.  It is not necessarily forged in the daily dose, the repetitiveness of seeing each other all the time.

Is that what makes it special?  The casualness?

I don't know.  It feels like there should be more...more connection.  More attention.  But in the lack of it there is a comfort. A casual sense of being.  Like when you're beside the ocean.  It is familiar.  It is something you've seen.  But it delivers the expected.  It isn't a surprise.

You are the tides of my day.  Highs and lows.

You remain constant...despite inconsistencies.

A north star, I'd guess.

But distant.

I think you give me what you can.  In your casual nature.

And I scurry to pick it up and collect it and build out a structure that I can call familiar.

I collect those brush-bys.  They are the orbit of the planets to the sun to me.