Almost impossible is like asymptotes approaching zero and you can spend your whole life waiting for the final countdown but the closest you get to is probably going to be zero point zero zero zero zero zero zero zero........ almost impossible is mostly waiting for things and seasons to stay permanent, frozen in time - the fond memory of the Aegean sea and jasmine volcanic ash, peeling layers of skin like an onion, going to museums. You are almost impossible:
to be loved,
to greet, to the moon and back)
I now understand the consequences, but the suspension of denial still hangs stiff in the air, the same way I grasp for air when the air is dense during winter with the heater on maximum. The aversion of reality is obvious, the almost impossible descends by announcing its arrival through painful but unavoidable moments. Through hellenic civilization my eyes roam like those of Dr T. J. Eckleburg and there is no glory in these pastimes, only a vague sympathy and an irreparable sadness that you have left with the happiness you document time and again. Is this a test? Or is this bureaucratic power play- I never underestimated your power but know that power begets will and you are a man with both. The sailor returns after a voyage and I refuse to run to sea, because there is no modesty because this is as we both know and silently acknowledge: a travesty of its own kind.
Imagine an earthquake in the snow and in a foreign land, you carve out a hollow grave for grief and I too understand (I should say I tried) what it meant to you but never quite enough.
I accept the almost impossible.