I want. I want. I want. No-one knows. Call it a clerical error and move on.
When I was young, I made a song. Then I heard it somewhere else. When I was older, I made another song, but I heard that one somewhere else too. I made other songs, though, that I didn’t hear elsewhere. I was diligent and purposeful. It all worked out in a way that I could live with. But oh! That slowly unfolding insect! That trembling tapestry of locomotion!
Incarnate. Bigger than mountains but with pinpoint accuracy. I focused like a laser. But I was too polite. Too sensitive. Too big. Too incarnate. I could have explained that I wanted her in that way, and demonstrated, played her body like a cello. But it isn’t about her. I learned that love is not enough.
Later, I learned that it is enough.
Ethan Abides 