Sunday, December 12, 2010

The History of Love.

After that day when I saw the elephant, I let myself see more and believe more. It was a game I played with myself. When I told Alma the things I saw she would laugh and tell me she loved my imagination. For her I changed pebbles into diamonds, shoes into mirrors, I changed glass into water, I gave her wings and pulled birds from her ears and in her pockets she found feathers, I asked a pear to become a pineapple, a pineapple to become a lightbulb, a lightbulb to become a moon, and the moon to become a coin I flipped for her love, both sides were heads: I knew I couldn’t lose.

And now, at the end of my life, I can barely tell the difference between what is real and what I believe. For example, this letter in my hand – I can feel it between my fingers. The paper is smooth, except in the creases. I can unfold it, and fold it again. As certain as I am sitting here now, this letter exists.

And yet.

In my heart, I know my hand is empty.

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