She sees him from a distance, her hair cascading down her face in tufts of black velvet....she sees him, and smiles. Perhaps today shall be the day he tells her, perhaps the waiting will be over. Her heart tightens into a knot at the very thought of spending the rest of his life with him.
We are all pulled into this. This bleak and blank expanse of love and hate and desire, What we are, we are not i t makes babies of us. We desire, we long and we want. And when everything is stripped away, when the flesh does not want, and the blood does not coarse through the veins, what then are we?

Just beings of flesh and bone

There is the spirit too. Where is the spirit ? Where is the life? Disenchantment grows quickly under this sullen skin.

“But you have had a good life” she tells me

“Yes, but not an honourable one” What do we do that affects the world...where do we draw the line between hat we earn for and our desire to change the world, to make a difference in it somehow. They look at me and all they see is the fat and the laughter and the round face. Maybe that is because when I look at myself all I see is the same. If I looked at myself differently, would they change their opinion of me ?

“Dont worry about them, the world does what it must “

Yes, and sitting here with you, in this Kafkaesque version of my reality, I feel nothing. Is it the same as feeling at peace , I ask her.

She shrugs and leans in closer to me...and we watch the rain pass by the window