Comfort I found a rock. It's dark grey black with a big brown stripe through the middle. It's heavy in a very satisfying way and smooth with small shiny polished flecks. It fits into my hand (which usually feels too small for most things). I found it when I was alone on the beach. Even though it was a cold day and I thought I was craving water--it was the only time I ever looked at all that blue and felt indifferent. The rock was poking out of the sand and surrounded by broken bits of shell and pretty colored pebbles. It looked big and ugly and imposing. It doesn't look that way now. It's cold and sheepish. And it's little. - Death is supposed to be this tall, pale man in a black cloak holding a scythe Or white robed Atropos solemnly snipping thread with frightening scissors in her hand Maybe it's somebody picking up shells--or a baby with sun in her hair, plucking daisies - I'm embarrassed to introduce myself That used to be my favorite thing to do--figuring out a blurb, or something to put in an obituary or on a tombstone I know it's morbid But I don't know-- I found it comforting I was here and this happened with these people and here's a nice conclusion you can make This is an honest description to build on I don't know how to do that anymore I don't see one big defining trauma or feel an all consuming passion that pushes me Somebody said that a person's death instinct is equal to their life instinct The more you want to die the more you want to live But today I don't want anything Is this what weariness is? Maybe this is the difference between being tired and being weary When you're tired you need rest and when you're weary you need love I haven't made time for love lately I haven't made love in a very very long time. I've had sex. But the last boy who made love to me is a dad now. And I forgot what it feels like. It bothers me. - Be kind in bed. I don't think many kind people are still kind when they're naked. - I keep dreaming of burning roses. - I always thought M was afraid of hurting me but now I know he was just afraid of watching me hurt. Poor thing. |