silent way

"The using and discarding at will of so much sound, so much artistic brilliance, the reliance on intuition, on risk-taking, on not knowing..."

Out of place and out of time. Less and less yourself. Twice removed. The words falling all about you. And if words, why not the heart? When I think of you, I'm not here...

The words not said, you kept in your heart. I held your small chaste heart in my hands, as if it was a flower, and they a paper boat. What you didn't say was true, after all. It was there amidst all the white lies of your heart, all that was false, like the dark words you wrote on the blank page. 'I give you my word' translates as 'I give you my tongue.'The small curve of the 'n's' of your eyebrows, unfashionably Persian; that silly comma for a nose: the grammar of your face I read, and was speechless. The last word between us, a key. When all has been said and done, a full stop. What the Americans call "closure". But, for me, or so I think, a mark of slavery. Yours or mine, I forget. The full stop, where all paths lead, paths tended or overgrown, a small world of mirrors, where you are me, and I am you. It was like the mole on your left breast, the dazzling beginning of your silent ways...