Civil.  He who claims foresight into his own future is a mule.  A mule adorned with tight fitting blinders that will lead him straight to the bottom of a box of Tesco's finest frozen lasagna.  Quality.  Certainty can only be found in the uncertainty of things.  But you don't know the half of it.  It will come through as a small model, but the model is quite large because the house itself never existed.  It is fictional.  Much like a forgotten lover.  With no recollection it disappears.  No longer real.  Our memories skewed regardless of what we may take as real.  An event in our past becomes a work of fiction and we find ourselves living a not so magical fairytale.  There is a war coming.

*            *            *

A love affair between a gentle elderly woman and a cast iron range.  "I really do love it, I just hope I go before it does", she said with a smile heavily laced with honesty.  I later found out she thought I was very sweet and on drugs.  A wonderfully strange and lonely feeling to sit at an all too low writing desk with a chilled bottle of stale water while the beautiful virgin that she is watches over me.  

Try as we may, our interest does not extend past now, and as the years pass us by we will on occasion pause whatever important task we are doing, put down our fork or paintbrush or hammer and our attention will be drawn to the sky.  We will not know the reasons why.  We will not ask why.  But we will think of one another and the love we once shared.  We will again pick up our instruments and continue as we were, knowing that one day we will die and with us our legacy.  And we will know what it means to be alone.

*            *            *

Keep your nose and fingernails clean, floss regularly, and kiss your mother goodnight.