vendredi, juillet 9

from possession

"Much later, he came out of a half-sleep, imagined he heard the sea, which was just possible from there, and then was aware that she was weeping silently beside him. He put out an arm, and she pushed her face into his neck, a little awkwardly, not clinging, but pushing blindly to lose herself.
'What is it? My dear?'
'Ah, how can we bear it?'
'Bear what?'
'This. For so short a time. How can we sleep this time away?'
'We can be quiet together, and pretend - since it is only the beginning - that we have all the time in the world.'
'And every day we shall have less. And then none.'
'Would you rather, therefore, have had nothing at all?'
'No. This is where I have always been coming to. Since my time began. And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run. But now, my love we are here, we are now, and those other times are running elsewhere.'
'Poetic, but not comfortable doctrine.'
'You know, as I know, that good poetry is not comfortable, however. Let me hold you, this is our night, and only the first and therefore the nearest infinite.'

He felt her face, hard and wet on his shoulder, and imagined the living skull, living bone, fed with threads and fine tubes of blue blood and inaccessible thoughts, running in her hidden cavities.

'You are safe with me.'
' I am not at all safe, with you. But I have no desire to be elsewhere.'