We were, the two of us, still fragmentary beings, just beginning to sense the presence of an unexpected, to-be acquired reality that would fill us and make us whole. We stood before a door we’d never seen before. The two of us alone, beneath a faintly flickering light, our hands tightly clasped together for a fleeting ten seconds of time.
What we needed were not words and promises but the steady accumulation of small realities.
One thing goes wrong, and then the whole house of cards collapses. And there’s no way you can extricate yourself. Until someone comes along to drag you out.
Nothing’s written in your eyes. It’s written in my eyes. I just see the reflection in yours.
Sometimes when I look at you, I feel like I’m gazing at a distant star. It’s dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn’t even exist anymore. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.
Probably is a word you may find south of the border. But never, ever west of the sun.
I always feel like I’m struggling to become someone else. Like I’m trying to find a new place, grab hold of a new life, a new personality. I guess it’s part of growing up, yet it’s also an attempt to reinvent myself. By becoming a different me, I could free myself of everything. I seriously believed I could escape myself — as long as I made the effort. But I always hit a dead end. No matter where I go, I still end up me. What’s missing never changes. The scenery may change, but I’m still the same old incomplete person.