To The Ceiling (first letter)

I was trying to get away from you again. This often happens after periods of extended confinement, staring up at your anonymous terrain, your a priori being, your constancy.
I went to a park and pitched a tent.
While the tent provided some respite, the sky certainly didn’t. I looked up at it as I would with you (without realizing it, without trying). Despite the travel, the hike, the elements, here I was again, staring through a gateway into everything everywhere at once. I could feel myself falling apart — sense the collapse of my cells.
This isn’t your fault. You just happen to be there and you don’t stare back. It’s engulfing. One tends to get lost. Without ever wanting to, without any conscious intent, your breadth has me returning to an endless labyrinth of thoughts inside my head.
Who knows where it all comes from or where it might be going?