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Oct. 7th, 2015 07:19 amYesterday, walking, I stumbled on a way of escaping loneliness without taking on another's hurt.
But at once I became sad I had no one to share it with. I brought it toward town but everyone was starving and weeping. They wept over starvation, but also over how their tears would at once become icicles. When this ice grew too unevenly one would fall over and freeze to the ground, deep in frozen tears by this time, and be lost, and so all would avoid both the fires in the square and more sadly each other. It wasn't even winter. The cold of last year's tears was too intense. They'd become a glacier. I was in the fields and saw the tears, each tear a tiny glacier like a seed to grow a shineless silver tree to choke all growth along a furrow. Sometimes the living would trip on the dead and freeze right onto them. Their relatives would circle them and cry, then run away, in horror that their tears might seal them in, or to see that their slowing tears already had. And they already had.
An awful town. My way, which was warm in my hand, I then put down. It seemed too selfish. Anyone I shared it with would feel the same. We would perish from shame together. I set it among the furrows on a curling branch of shineless ice.
It seemed there like an upward-hanging apple.
Going home, I heard a tiny crack behind me.
I dreamed that I was dead and two were walking by recalling me. They said I'd brought it nearer to the town.
But at once I became sad I had no one to share it with. I brought it toward town but everyone was starving and weeping. They wept over starvation, but also over how their tears would at once become icicles. When this ice grew too unevenly one would fall over and freeze to the ground, deep in frozen tears by this time, and be lost, and so all would avoid both the fires in the square and more sadly each other. It wasn't even winter. The cold of last year's tears was too intense. They'd become a glacier. I was in the fields and saw the tears, each tear a tiny glacier like a seed to grow a shineless silver tree to choke all growth along a furrow. Sometimes the living would trip on the dead and freeze right onto them. Their relatives would circle them and cry, then run away, in horror that their tears might seal them in, or to see that their slowing tears already had. And they already had.
An awful town. My way, which was warm in my hand, I then put down. It seemed too selfish. Anyone I shared it with would feel the same. We would perish from shame together. I set it among the furrows on a curling branch of shineless ice.
It seemed there like an upward-hanging apple.
Going home, I heard a tiny crack behind me.
I dreamed that I was dead and two were walking by recalling me. They said I'd brought it nearer to the town.
