What is it about a phrase like "image resounding" that leaves me feeling correct?

The suddenest thing that's true is this: there is no needing another person beyond volition. People, too, are only chosen.

But I get the feeling that chance plays a much greater role than it wants to let on...

Do you know how small you are? Also it is of the things you are waiting--even when you know that you do not have to wait at all--because you know how the experience should be had even without ever having had it before. Like a warm mug between breasts; chocolate-dipped mangoes or pens; the frustrated pacing of eager eyes; 12:08 am being as wide-awake by the questions as perhaps everyone has, sometimes, to be--and the years and years gone by and coming to house them all within. And if you have no troubles to impart...? Who needs such love!?--such necessarily entertained love.

If the wish is consummately to reflect something more than perspective--something rather essential--then how can this be allowed? Traces of you fade off like this...the sky tastes the rain like a tongue beneath a waterfall, and its satisfaction is not confused. (Not ever alone, just so possessive of solitude pretended.) Like the obsidian flecks strewn along the porch railing, dropping off the sun in their wake? No. We've not that kind of knowledge, i decree (...this limit). There's a bruise on your hand, and you have soft hands.