I find myself telling her about the sense of loss, the divorce from fiction, imagination, desires and dreams. These were the things, the life, I couldn't have, but I kept the precious notions of them in a treasure box that I could open and look into whenever I wanted. Lately, the box is empty, and I don't know if these shadowy, imaginary things have faded away or if they're all floating out here now, mixed up with reality, trying to coalesce into something new.
(o)
ReplyDeleteI don't see that they can be altogether lost...
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