polyisocyanurate

blank and even blanker than that is the emptiness before the virgin. all life long pouring out, 'till the gossamer thread catch somewhere, till the ductile anchor hold...' we are loosely fit puzzle pieces, linked so inextricably to the next event and yet like candles in the dark, we can only see to the canopy edge of our thinking, neglecting the infinite world beyond. when i think of someone, is that person thinking of me too? what if i'm thinking about meg ryan or shakespeare? they most likely aren't thinking about me, so this theory is obviously flawed. then why do i still believe it? i've experienced the aching, or more like gnawing, feeling in my core when i think of someone. is that sensation a validation of the reciprocation somewhere out in the ether, our spirits meeting? it gets weird and even weirder than that is knowing that there is so much more going on here.