Friday, September 1, 2006

"Oh! Oh! Wait up now, just' second please!!"

With her - since her - he's realized just how singular he is, and small. This is because she effects him--impossibly strong, her influence--so that he has this physical validation of the existence of another, as real as memory. And it's based on this vicarious sort of truth, without the known fact of her actual existence. Insofar as this is the case for him, it's like a line extends from each person he meets, delineating their presence inside of their words or expressions. Except that it's not a line at all-he knows this through the completion he feels of himself, through her...regardless of the fact that they will go nowhere together; that they are, is where they are.

(But he doesn't know her. Those glimpses earned or chanced shed only shadows in the brilliance of his intentions; her downcast eyes sudden, her smile so slight like inexistence itself, and almost as blankly writ on his mind. He doesn't know her, nor all that she might mean--soft voice, small consolation for everything not said; fingers playing out puzzles along his skin, distinguishing pieces from a solid image once owned and owned up to. And of course she's there, present as he is even while never for his sake-never for a thing, having not been the bearer of this choice. What can this mean to him? This telling would have them seem the same. Then how does influence taste so shallow, settling so deeply here and now? His memory is as incomplete as his desire is denied, but his sight sees clearly only this absence of regret. What is it that's his, then? Something like satisfaction? Something like instead? Dear.)

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