he has a word, too...
Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn't need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear.
That was my duty to him, to not ask that, and that duty i fulfilled. I would be I; I would let him be the shape and echo of his word.
Then it was over. Over in the sense that he was gone and I knew that, see him again though I knew I would, I would never again see him coming swift and secret to me in the woods dressed in sin like a gallant garment directly blowing aside with the speed of his secret coming.
But for me it was not over. I mean over in the sense of beginning and ending, because there was not beginning nor ending to anything then.
Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn't need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear.
That was my duty to him, to not ask that, and that duty i fulfilled. I would be I; I would let him be the shape and echo of his word.
Then it was over. Over in the sense that he was gone and I knew that, see him again though I knew I would, I would never again see him coming swift and secret to me in the woods dressed in sin like a gallant garment directly blowing aside with the speed of his secret coming.
But for me it was not over. I mean over in the sense of beginning and ending, because there was not beginning nor ending to anything then.