Sunday, July 6, 2008
The Moving Curtain
The methodical ticking of the bedside clock accompanies the incremental progression of the day. The curtain ripples and billows gently, giving form to an otherwise invisible breeze. I am placated. Even though the din of city traffic refuses to die, nature continues its silent exhalations. The curtain stirs, dancing to the gentle breaths of some magical force. Its movement lulls me. Serenity permeates me. Limpidity becomes me.
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In the stillness between my heartbeats, I wanted to feel the wind behind your curtain behind my curtain, I wanted to see what you saw through the window of your eyes through the wiindow of my eyes.
The difficulty of human experience is the irreconcilability with another. Our moments are separated by flesh and blood. The parameters of experience are too often determined by the fact that we are separate, unique entities. But wanting, desiring, yearning, pushes the boundaries.
Yes. Cursed for a lifetime of solitude. Even when we are rolled and slid and connected into one, pushing into the other's boundary, filled with the same wanting, desiring, yearning, I can't possibly hear what you hear, see what you see, feel what you feel.
The loneliness.
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