In their gravity-driven journey, he awoke each morning with the desire to love her more, to take some steps in their action plan, to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others--the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He needs her as air and as that blood he has in hers / his heart. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere she is. To be with people she likes. To be convinced with principles and ethics she has. He would if she could see his mind and respect his beliefs. She is the universe to him. She is LIFE. The Clown & the Witch gravity-driven journey
Posted on: Mon, 29 Dec 2014 20:16:09 +0000
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