They wandered about the house, each feeling intimately the presence of the other.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
I always hide her beauty from myself until it is too late to praise her for it.
Leonard Cohen
Every early day with her was breathtaking. Every room was home. They breathed love in and out in the gardens where marriages are sealed. He kissed her eyelids in easy silence, he blessed everything around her: the very ground beneath her, the slipstreams of their breath: the one breath, the one heart. On the seventh night they knew without expressing it that there was no going back. He was ruled by fear. She overthrew him and gave him a map to her door. He forgave himself. Seven years later he gave her directions to the crossroads meant only for them. He turned up late and empty-handed. By the old savage route they became strangers to the world again. Why was I made to use his greed against myself, she asked. Why do I let myself defeat her smile over and over, he asked. You grope and there’s nothing but groping. A voice says, Take a bite of this wormy fruit and embrace in your unclean armour. She said, You don’t know what love is. Hence you never loved me. He said, Stop poking your finger into my nerves. Talk, she said. You let me do your dirty work and gave me the crumbs of your love. Talk if you dare. Why when I always wanted what you wanted did you never want what I wanted. And you wonder why we become enemies, he said. Is this what you want. She said, It doesn’t matter anymore does it. I learned your needs better than you. Now look where I am. In this place you told me to go. Even then you let me go first. And you arrive still the same, you never let the journey touch you. Listen to yourself, they shouted. Fuck you, they shouted.
