Monday, January 18, 2010
"I thought at first that she was just dead. Just darkness. Just a body being eaten by bugs. I thought about her a lot like that, as something’s meal. What was her - green eyes, half a smirk, the soft curves of her legs - would soon be nothing, just the bones I never saw. I thought about the slow process of becoming bone and then fossil and then coal that will, in millions of years, be mined by humans of the future, and how they would heat their homes with her, and then she would be smoke billowing out of a smokestack, coating the atmosphere. I still think that, sometimes, think that maybe “the afterlife” is just something we made up to ease the pain of loss, to make our time in the labyrinth bearable. Maybe she was just matter, and matter gets recycled."
This is the dead of winter. This is the icy core of all things lost.
This is my most ruthless demon, shredding my flesh with regret.
One sided love is always a lingering death.
In dreams I am always reacting. In dreams I cannot shrug things off, I cannot turn away.
I am made to stare this ghost in its bloodless face and feel it inflating my lungs with longing.
These invisible things kill me.