(no subject)

[proximoception]

We take only so much of the day, even here. So much land, so many movements, everything crowding in front of itself sans pattern, thus sliding easily free of memory. You cannot have the million greens, so settle for an impression of green. Something unreal but that you can hold. What she and I had was like that, by and large, except that, after separately convincing ourselves that though we could do better we could pretend with one another until then, something realer than expectation hit hard at the exact moment we touched softly, hard like a wave, like a car. Our daydreams are maps, our loves countries. They just don't compare. But a map can stay when a country recedes, like green with the passing of greens. The difference is you now know what the map isn't of. Like you know that the day you can only dip a toe in at least isn't night. Know which greens are wrong, in the lineup of greens. It was most like that with her name, I think. I still also remember what her name was to me before that afternoon, strangely. A name of a different color, but also one with no others behind it, just more of itself. The color of a date and not a day. I found someone else with the same name, much later, I suspect mostly to see if the name could be washed clean, but with that one it all stayed in daydream. Which belatedly proved that it hadn't been about bodies, since ours then next to what hers and mine had been before were just ghosts. Days too had been like that since, not always but often - ghosts of days. I worried we might only get the one set of days, the way we only get one country, one color of eyes.

Far too much about this - we can talk about what can't be talked about but never should. The truth will be both there in our words and lost in the too much else those words contain.

Comments

[grashupfer.livejournal.com]

Like green with the passing of greens. Nice.

[nightspore.livejournal.com]

Days too had been like that since, not always but often - ghosts of days.

Wow.