This afternoon it felt like a fractal peace was blooming from the ruins, and our course isn't just set according to the cathartic norms we thought they were, the definite arc of Sunrise to sunset, but is only our creation, and can take the medium we decide. Walking home I felt something close to euphoria, or maybe that was Jarvis in my ears, or the LSM of Citalopram, the light-headed Sheffield inclines, or maybe again the thrill of normality, of moderation, neither this or that but a new middle that we've never explored before, where we could actually find a place for each other. You're in the middle of my triangle, and I hope I'm in the middle of yours, now we know the edges are too sharp for each of us. He's in the middle of my triangle too, and I hope one day I can be in the middle of his, because I'm fond of him. Our issues feel like they've been shrinking for weeks, as we slowly work out the kinks, but for the first time it feels like everything could be OK going forwards, and I can finally stop listening to The Boatman's Call. I know my booms and crashes grew more extreme, I know my particularities are trying, but our new ambiguity can take the edge off, allow each other space to flex, the rigidity was the death of 'us'. I hope this isn't too forward, but I'm finding it thrilling how bloody moderately we feel about each other right now. It's fragile and unsure, but it's me and it's you and it's now.