Beads of water collect on the back of my hand; some reach out and join with others, before rolling off to the side; others, the more individualistic ones, dart off, unexpectedly, as if with a mind of their own. Deep veins, a bundle of raw nerves, the calmness of a posture. How poor your hands are at gathering, collecting...
There's a starkness to the opening page of 'A Death in the Family' that made you return to it three times before moving on to the second page. Bleakness, a desire to stick close to the facts, shorn of too much artifice, embellishment. How few times you've spoken with a clear voice...
Find a space, a time to yourself. Your mind, the mind, stilled; not by love, but perhaps by the image of it. If I had no more words, or maybe just one, I'd say your name ,
2 comments:
maybe a clear voice is not what matters, but a full heart
i missed you
the heart, full or empty, it's hard to tell..changes from moment to moment.
I missed you too! :-)
now, get out of here and stop making me blush!
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