Glimpse into history.

[Come on, love! You must shape these things into something...]

Stare at a fabric folder (perchance purchased in Persia?) and consider this, your predicament. Paint her deep orange--bruise her bright yellow--and our masquerade fades off.

These words...these words...all you know in the dimness of day, and surrounded by darkly-writ sunshine. Where else could there have really been to go, then? And how can we think to express this? Oh abstraction! Fucking cowardly distraction! When commitment threatens a worthy conclusion we run at blurring speeds somewhere far away. Such eventualities bite into your shield of pride, good darling. We love & we don't! We love & we don't! What then?! What of it?

No. I don't want my time in between that bliss of loving you--to anymore resemble waiting. I exist even without you, love, strange as this is to express. The green of the trees look not so heavy here, almost floating their tips to the lightness of beige. And then suddenly we're working--oh yes, again. How we don't make sense with such dedication! (To be taken every which way.)

You'd think to express any feeling that runs so deep--you'd think it would have to be easy. (Ah, well.)

Faretheewell folk,
-Talthea (12/12/07)