This is going to get confusing because there are two ‘yous’. There’s the you – the someone, who’s mixed up in these memories, who I’m trying to reach again like the fish – a fish I’d never go after in real life or even know how to catch, and there’s the you, who is well, you, whoever’s looking at this now.
It’s another deficiency of our language that we have this one pronoun for one person, a group, when of course we need a you for the you we address, the you in the room and the you in our memories, the closest of you.
See, you’re right. I can’t stop thinking. I wish I knew what it was, what precise thought, drove you away. I’m certain it was utterly banal. Not one individual thought but the whole strata of speculation that swirled and got muddy. Maybe I just needed a better filing system for my mind. You – the reader – would think that the computer was for that. But you – the one I’m really addressing and who will never read this – would tell them, that is you that it only encouraged me
And I only want to know because I can’t stand not knowing. I don’t want to change the situation. Just to know.
And to build, to speak, to love, to sleep, to eat, to buy. To visit. To stay. To call. To forget. To apologise. Our lives are built around this tiny word. If it’s not attached to an action, it’s attached to where you’re not. Where I’m not. Motion. Intention. The word practically blazes with it, which is why it was never a word for me. Yet, there’s something very static about the preposition. To is where we never reach. It it’s the marker of our plans. No wonder the word is formed from a cross and a circle.
Into and onto are just hitching a ride on ‘to’. Henchmen really. Underlings, who’ve outgrown their importance. We don’t need them but they remain. We couldn’t just go to town; we had to go into town. And we had to always move onto something else.