Just one night. And my love continues to grow. Do you think I'm crazy?No. Sometimes the first sip of coffee is better than the last.
But just one night. How can that--
Look, you have something almost every woman wants. Something, well, . . .
What do I have Kathrin? He's gone.
No. Nein. He is not gone. He can never be gone. You must understand this. You have that perfect love, captured, suspended in amber so to speak. It can never not be. It can never change. It can never become something less beautiful, less desired.
Mary smiled. I wish I could see it that way.
My first sip of Walter was as your Virgil. Over time, the coffee grew cold. Then bitter. So this is what I have. The cold and the bitter with the first. And when you have all three, you don't have just the first, you don't have what you have, and will have, with Virgil, for as long as you hold his memory, his divinity. It is a kindling, a spark you must protect. Others will think you insane, but pay no mind to that jealousy. It is, what you have, what we all want, what we all dream of, what we all take into our pillows, wet or dry.
++++++
Casualties have slowed. I've been given two days leave.
Oh.
My friends are wanting to go to Paris.
Wonderful city. A place of dreams.
Yeah.
You will have fun. It will be good for you.
I'm not going.
Why not?
I was there not long ago. I'd rather let those memories have their own space.
++++++
And what of these two days?
I'm going to find my smile.
Oh really.
And you are coming with me.
And how do you propose we do that?
We look where we have not been looking. Someplace our feet can take us. Someplace that requires no money, where there are no crowds. Where it is just you and I and we hold our thoughts like two little girls with a secret and we discover again the flower, the field, the bird and the sky. I want to plant my feet in the loam, to cadge the nourishment of soil as if my toes were seeds and my legs but stalks. I want to turn to the sun as a sunflower and breath the day into my belly, this little rotund life that knows nothing of this war, conceived in love, as you say, everlasting. I want to see the colors of spring as if with glasses, as if with the eyes of Monet, as if my hands were sable. And to inhale the aroma of nature, of branch and leaf, of pregnant fields and feel this life under my feet as this life above them.
8 comments:
I AM paying attention and following the story, but a short recital of words diverted me a moment. " . .that perfect love, captured, suspended in amber . . ." My daughter's name. Amber. It evoked up such a beautiful, warm feeling. Thank you. Again.
Something magical about that name. Always glad to have you around Limes. :-)
Sigh. How True, what every woman wants...simply put. Lovely.
Another phrase I almost edited out and in its place substituted "everyone" for women.
There is Women in everyone.
Participating in DC as a reader and guest commentator is an experience equal to the greater reality of love-eternal -- in a single encounter, or Golden Wedding Anniversary, or no encounter in the body at all.
Thank you for creating a character who has decided for herself that one-night love is forever love, if one chooses that it is. Holographic Love, sacred mobius gently turning on itself, hearts beating in passion and recognition all over the internet! esp here.
She was autumn in a window, wind and breeze herding leaves across the yard not raked, not touched of design as open plains full of mustangs. Of eyes full of flask, full of the sighing of summer, a warmth poured forth as sun on the porch, each plank absorbing its share, expanding, creaking, in the heat of her long caresses. And her fruit bore the rains and the suns, sighing too of shooting stars coming home of gravity. Somewhere, unseen, an owl; and around the bend, over the levee flows a quiet river, home of fish not eaten, of fowl not caught, of autumn dressing for the last dance, like a child caught between father and mother, between summer and winter.
"You have that perfect love, captured, suspended in amber so to speak. It can never not be. It can never change. It can never become something less beautiful, less desired."
Is it possible to live it without the coffee getting cold, bitter?
I should like to hold it in my hand forever, amber that leaks down my elbows but is never sticky
or
if it is,
to not give a damn.
If we drink with abandon. If we continue to put wood in the stove. If we pay attention as we did at the first sip. If we continue to be verbs and not "to be" verbs. Then I think it is possible.
As for your arm, bring it here. I'm in the mood for some amber.
Post a Comment