A Web of Lies

On her fifteenth birthday
she pricked her finger
on a charred spinning wheel
and the clocks stopped.

--Briar Rose, Anne Sexton

What is the nature of time? Does the clock truly measure it? Does the ticking pull along the track of events, a belt along a cog?

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow," wrote the bard. But when tomorrow comes, it has transmogrified into today.

Things fly apart; the center can not hold. Or perhaps, from a certain point of view, they fly together, and it is the rim which does not last. And what of the poor spoke?

What of the poor spoke?

I am, in the words of the Monty Python character, not dead, yet.

I am not dead, yet I do not know how alive I am. I perform the activites of life. I eat, I worry about my weight. I exercise, I bathe. I read, and I smile at children and puppies. For years, after my last girlfriend drifted away from me without anything so dramatic as a breakup, so traumatic as a fight, I was alone.

And then the girl with the almond eyes came to me, and seemed to see me. I began to see her. She became wrapped around my heart. But now I wonder if she does see me. If she even has room for anyone else beside herself in her heart. I see her speaking to others about the. Things that arehappening in her life, and she doesn't mention me. I leave a comment on a picture she posts, and she deletes it.

Is she so ashamed of being with me? Would it be so difficult to explain to her family, to her friends?

And so I am come here, to complain where she will not see. To lick my wounds where no one really knows me. To wonder if I'm making another poor choice. To wonder if maybe it is time to be alone again.

For Thursday's child is Sunday's clown
For whom none will go mourning

--Lou Reed, "All Tomorrow's Parties"

Can you say that you have broken off with someone who says that you were not dating?

If you love me, but you do not sleep with me, are you protected from the L word? If you sleep in my bed, but we make no love, can you tell yourself that it means nothing? Would it be so bad, if we kissed? Would it be the end of the world if I made you sigh? Why do you pull me close, only to push me away?

I come in from a walk
With you
And they ask me
If it is raining.

I didn’t notice
But I’ll have to give them
The right answer
Or they’ll think I’m crazy.

--"The Masks of Love," Alden Nowlan

Asleep, she is like a statue which breathes. She has the sheet wrapped about her, tangled like a winding sheet. How fragile she is, how artlessly artistic her pose. I watch her. She sleeps in my bed, but she does not sleep with me.

Come fuggiste, o belle ore serene!
Dilettevol quaggiù null’altro dura,
Né si ferma giammai, se non la spene.

--Giacomo Leopardi, Canto XXXIX

We did watch the movie; we did. "He is so pretty," she sighed, as she held my hand. Later, I held her in my arms, and we looked at the star. "It is only a planet," I said.

I'll give you my time and money
I'll give you somewhere to sleep
But don't ask me for my heart and soul
My love is only skin deep

Melissa Etheridge, "Skin Deep," Brave and Crazy

Ask me for my heart and soul. Please. Ask me for anything; let me know you know I exist.

Contrary to public rumor, I do have feelings, and it is possible to hurt them. Do not take me to task for being harsh when you have just slapped me in my feelings; it will only lead to me being more harsh.

Speak, O desolate city! Speak, O silence in sadness!
Where is she that I loved in my strength, that spoke to my soul?
Where are those passionate eyes that appeal'd to my eyes in passion?
Where is the mouth that kiss'd me, the breast I laid to my own?

--The Desolate City, Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

She was in the elevator when I got off work, and we smiled. We talked as we rode down, of the things that we had done in the day, and at the bottom, I asked if she would like to come home with me, and I would cook for her dinner. She said it was her birthday, and she would be happy to have someone else cook. She came with me, and I made her noodles and clams in a white wine sauce, and we talked.

After dinner, we put The Incredibles on the player, and together we curled on the couch. I put my head in her lap, and she played with my hair, and I was very comfortable, and as close to happy as I have been in a long time. But when the movie ended, she got up and put on her shoes, and her coat. I went to kiss her, and she gave me her cheek. She drove home, and I cleaned up the mess from dinner.

Now I am in my pyjamas, and there is no one but me to see that it is late, and I am sitting at the computer.

"All love is unrequited."
--Susan Ivonova

The kindness of someone you love with an unrequited passion may be the cruelest of all kindnesses.