For school.
“But, Madam, I have said too much. What is your idea of love?”
“Love. I used to fall sleep with pillows, give them human heat. I too used to count till Sunday. But my Sundays were rare and meticulous. Only then was I safe, sleeping on top their arms, their legs, their fingertips. I refuse to give names, for even that simple implication takes away the image. See, love is a paradox. You kiss, you marry but with each proclamation you loose the butterflies found in the first place. I fell in love with the butterflies. Or perhaps the fascination. Our love was a secret for too many years. And with love comes hate. And disaster.”
“Disaster?”
“It disintegrated into fragments of youthful memories and mystic. Love, you see, is balance. The world, to me, is in constant balance. Love is the balance of pain and despair. Of this horrible wind. Bad weather, ya know?”
“Love. I used to fall sleep with pillows, give them human heat. I too used to count till Sunday. But my Sundays were rare and meticulous. Only then was I safe, sleeping on top their arms, their legs, their fingertips. I refuse to give names, for even that simple implication takes away the image. See, love is a paradox. You kiss, you marry but with each proclamation you loose the butterflies found in the first place. I fell in love with the butterflies. Or perhaps the fascination. Our love was a secret for too many years. And with love comes hate. And disaster.”
“Disaster?”
“It disintegrated into fragments of youthful memories and mystic. Love, you see, is balance. The world, to me, is in constant balance. Love is the balance of pain and despair. Of this horrible wind. Bad weather, ya know?”