Mar. 5, 2006 - For the truth, that is breath.
The light catches my frame of vision strangely, I said while peering off the ledge. It seems as though the ice is breaking up, creaking below my weight. I can see my own reflection in the frigid water that is tripping below my feet. The resistance of the naturalness of gravity pulling me in is taking everything. My teeth are grinding against one another, naturally. And naturally, you are capturing the exact moment of my inner collapse onto film which you will develop. I will stand over your shoulder as the paper gives up the image. I will critisize myself for posture and lack of morals. You will tell me I've never looked more like myself.
When I sit on the edge of my bed later that night, brushing the pine needles from my hair, I will be thinking only of how that water would feel on my skin. Cleansing like they say in movies. They always say that it's like starting over, only metaphorically. When I tell you this, you say that I spend too much time living in metaphors, I'm in over my head.
What I've been trying to tell you is, that is where I want to be. That's where I'm most exposed, most open. Mostly.
|
