i wrote the following, unfinished or beginning something-or-other, on June 24th two-thousand and five.
the photograph was an old one, taken in those dark gray years or when colors could not yet be captured by chemicals and emulsion.and may have been inspired, in part, not only to the photograph that i was looking at but two actual people that i know.a man and woman look into each others eyes. they are seated or they are slanted and in the very corner of a cafe, blocked in by that table and this camera or our silent watching.
just behind and a little above the womans head is the mirror that eventually wraps itself around the entire cafe. it allows us, watching, to see the mans expression.
they are a slanted, seated pair. the man presses his body against hers, his hands gripping steadily, holding her as a dancer holds the woman he loves and dances with. his face is a study in smug determination. in his mind there is no question, now, that what he has wanted is now guaranteed. his eyes savor the color of her lips, a color we are not allowed to see.
the womans body has an answer for every part of the man. he advances, she retreats. his strong grip seems to have the dual ability of holding her up and melting her skin --even from behind her thick wool overcoat.
in the womans one free hand, a small cigarette, and she holds it away from her loving man. he seems to lunge, the certainty of slow-moving honey. she fastens him to her as well as she can, here in this cafe corner. with her other arm and hand resting somewhere at his back she draws him nearer with very little force. or perhaps it is just that he goes willingly toward her, crawling if he could. crawling if she liked, if she asked.
his eyes are still on her lips, her chin, her neck, her skin. his smug mouth twisted into whispering secrets. shes tossed her head back in laughter at them but her eyes have never left his face....
my feelings on the both of them have me quite puzzled. i know i will one day have to untangle them somehow against the expanse of so many blank pages.. but now and not tonight.
all i really wanted was to make a note of it, or a part of a note of my very deep and very real concern over it and them, here.
it all goes back to the issue of being able, or having the capacity in and of oneself to be larger--or to be seen and accepted as greater--than (simply) one love alone.
or one life with one love alone.
and why do we become so impossible when it comes to love. how can a heart be so divided in what it wants and claims and clings to?
i'm speaking, here, mostly of my own misgivings.. doubts and internal disasters.
as i examine it or me or myself or my behavior or our interaction.. i wonder and marvel at my fascinations and inabilities to make connections and smooth over rough portions of thought.
i am troubled over my friends and over my loves and over my troubled loves and over ....details, distance and touch.
tomorrow i will be attending a funeral/memorial that has been included within a mass.
i'll be in the company both of close and distant family and relatives. my mind will travel, though, i'm almost sure, back to the spongy half-dark of half-love and half-adoration.
it is a challenge and a wonder to be in love with someone you cannot reach or have.. because you are in love with a mystery, with an aching so dull that you expire so slowly and with the worrying sting of a thousand deadly arrows piercing that bleating awful heart.
00:57 - Tuesday, Feb. 28, 2006
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