Thursday, October 8, 2009

that was the part that ruined everything

i do not know nearly enough about great love or great loss to say the heart is any one thing and it aches a certain way. i could maybe say, though, about the temperature of the floor one was sitting cross-legged upon the moment it became clear that nothing worth keeping was in the room.


a b said...

This so reminds me of this Stoppard, which Emily introduced me to forever ago (and for which I'm forever grateful): "I don't want anyone else but sometimes, surprisingly, there's someone, not the prettiest or the more available, but you know that in another life it would be her. Or him, don't you find? A small quickening. The room responds slightly to being entered. Like a raised blind. Nothing intended, and a long way from doing anything, but you catch a glimpse of being someone else's possibility and it's a sort of politeness to show you haven't missed it, so you push it a little, well within safety, but there's that sense of a promise almost being made in the touching and kissing without which no one can seem to say good morning in this poncy business and one more push would do it."

klooky said...

oh my. i recall this line: "The room responds slightly to being entered" and i want to say you shared this with me a long time ago and i am breathtaken with it now as i was ever. thank you for reminding me. miss you dearly.