Free association, logical paths of relationships made in your head, links strung together in your memory; pulling one link leads to a whole different outcome. An end, an event, a tangible manifestation of words.
You are this to me. A chain reaction. Everything reminds me of your name. Your name calls your image to mind. Your image begs to be made tangible, by phone at the very least, since there are always some miles that separate us. Your voice makes my hands twitch to touch you, my eyes ache to look at you, to prove your existence and the reality of my place in your life. Your presence in my company makes my skin burn to be in contact with yours...and so on and so forth, ad nauseum. This is how my days pass, in any number of combinations, from a towel left in the corner of the bathroom to making love to you. From a stop light on 24th to pinning your shoulders against the bed, against the wall.
This is why I show up on your doorstep, this is why I call you at odd times, this is why I stare at you instead of anything else, this is why my arms are reluctant to loosen whenever you try to leave my embrace.
This is why I'm writing this pathetic entry, in this pathetic journal, that you will probably never see.
Because my life has become six degrees to you.
Kevin Bacon ain't got nothing on you, baby.