Monday, January 6, 2014

blizzard on my breath

 Then came, at a predetermined moment, a moment in time and of time, 
A moment not out of time, but in time, in what we call history: bisecting the world of time, a moment in time but not like a moment of time
--T.S. Eliot

Inside, I was inside a world of endless red seats, as soft as velvet, and walls lit mysteriously red. Everything was red, as in loving him was.
Outside, just beyond the world of me and my book and the slick black table and chair was the mighty Mississippi, not yet entirely frozen, the surges of water fighting against the inevitable frost.
The bridges that spanned the formidable river were lit up with the speeding laser-lights of cars.
The world glowed, as I watched it through the slick blue windows.
Outside was a snow-globe world, of bright lights and snow crunching under leather boots.
Inside was a world of light and mystery and people-watching.
There were couples to my right and to my left.
One was holding plastic cups of alcohol and taking selfies.
The others were commenting on books they'd read and movies their friends had seen.

I watched the bride walk, with a joyful, springy, childlike confidence down the aisle.
She held her head, decorated with a slick brown bob and a sparkling bandeau, high.
She was the queen here, and everyone was dazzled by her.
Underneath her gown--fit for a princess--of creamy, flowing chiffon trimmed with delicately shining pink ribbons around the waist and hem, her bare feet would poke out from time to time.
She was bursting with a most contagious joy, that spilled out of her with the abandon of a child. 
As she laughed, she enchanted the world, but mostly the long-haired man who stood next to her, grinning at her with all his heart.

I grinned, too, as I caught sight of the small light out of the corner of my eye.
Forever seems like such a small amount of time.
You'd need twice as long as eternity to adequately tell someone you loved them.
Love seems to take time, which we all claim to understand, control, and measure in perfectly manageable 60-seconds per minute increments, and twist it, break it, un-tame it and let it run wild.
Stumped, I ask:
Who are you?
The answer was no answer, but an invitation, playing on the strings of a desire: 
come and see.

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