The man speaks:
After the fall, not only do we need to work to earn a living by the sweat of our brow, and the ground only produces thorns and thistles, and that’s how it goes until you [finger across the throat gesture], but also, somehow, it seems that I’m the only one who can see your beauty now. Sometimes I can hardly see anything else, and yet somehow it’s been hidden from the rest of the world. Maybe this was intended as a blessing, since otherwise the world would spin completely off its tracks, or perhaps just stop dead, entranced. My own heart sometimes feels ready to explode, to leave its shards scattered throughout the world for future generations to collect and reconstruct and learn from.
When I was created, when we were created, I had your face. I mean, we had the same face once. We shared it. That was alright. Sometimes after we’ve been talking all night I see my face in the mirror and it seems wrong to see that face I see when I’m shaving, instead of the beautiful woman-face I’ve just spent so much time looking at. The face I lost, I guess. No, that’s not it. The recollection of the face that was mine before the one I have now.
But what puzzles me is that you yourself don’t seem to be able to see your own beauty. Maybe you don’t have anywhere to look. Maybe that’s what’s made it hard for you to see it.
Look in my eyes, you can see it there. I’ll try not to blink. I don’t want the world to accidentally come to an end.
After the fall, not only do we need to work to earn a living by the sweat of our brow, and the ground only produces thorns and thistles, and that’s how it goes until you [finger across the throat gesture], but also, somehow, it seems that I’m the only one who can see your beauty now. Sometimes I can hardly see anything else, and yet somehow it’s been hidden from the rest of the world. Maybe this was intended as a blessing, since otherwise the world would spin completely off its tracks, or perhaps just stop dead, entranced. My own heart sometimes feels ready to explode, to leave its shards scattered throughout the world for future generations to collect and reconstruct and learn from.
When I was created, when we were created, I had your face. I mean, we had the same face once. We shared it. That was alright. Sometimes after we’ve been talking all night I see my face in the mirror and it seems wrong to see that face I see when I’m shaving, instead of the beautiful woman-face I’ve just spent so much time looking at. The face I lost, I guess. No, that’s not it. The recollection of the face that was mine before the one I have now.
But what puzzles me is that you yourself don’t seem to be able to see your own beauty. Maybe you don’t have anywhere to look. Maybe that’s what’s made it hard for you to see it.
Look in my eyes, you can see it there. I’ll try not to blink. I don’t want the world to accidentally come to an end.
Song: Still Life (with scone)
I’m rushing to get to the place we had named
Then stop on the sidewalk: you’re perfectly framed
By the front window of the café
A still from some cinema verité
Just this:
Still life
You’re sitting at the table alone
Frowning at some stupid thing on your phone
Without really looking, you’re trying to pick up
The scone sitting next to your coffee cup
Just this:
Still life
Perfectly frozen, this moment a picture
The window a frame, you within it
Not quite real, not quite a fiction
A memory, a dream, something infinite
You see me and wave, the spell is then broken
I’m not quite in a dream, not yet awoken
Between two worlds, I can’t quite decide
Then I smile, wave back and go inside
Is this
Still life?
No comments:
Post a Comment