Those three words are said too much
|This is one of the most beautiful things I have seen in a long long time. A pile of Neolithic bones, found twenty-five miles south of Verona (fair Verona, where we lay our scene). And the true story of how they came to be buried like this, 5000 or 6000 years ago? I don't care. I know what I see.|
One of the most beautiful things you can do with your body is to allow it to become entangled with another in such a way that you no longer know where you end and they begin. You no longer know which limbs, which hair, which fingers and thumbs and genitals belong to whom. You no longer know the direction of gravity. You breathe their breath. It becomes impossible to differentiate between the two pulses, which merge into a gentle rolling thunder against one another's skin.
And you (I) do think about death in such moments because there could be no better way to conclude one's existence. Warm and close. Never to leave and never to be left behind.
Instead you go to sleep together and wake up in an entirely different position.
Other things of beauty this week: here, here and here. Still not sure what's happening in our saga, but it seems likely we will be stuck living with my folks for at least the next fortnight. Which, much as I adore my parents... There are difficulties looming which I can't possibly go into here which could mean official homelessness, worst case scenario. But there's a friendly roof over our head. And it might all go swimmingly. We'll see.
Ha ha, swimmingly, get it?