Halfway through the semester, fatigue sets in and the thought dogs you more often than usual. Of how pitifully insufficient, half-done, amorphous everything seems these days. You only have access to fragments of people, stolen bits of conversation in shop doorways, cyphered messages in a broken language you cannot understand. Never the full picture, never the full time, never the full language. Never the full person.
The desired things are remoter than ever, out of reach. A fleeting glimpse in the distance, or a winter sun seen through a thick, translucent glass. It is there, but it isn't. It has no warmth, no reality, it does not shine on you.
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