Memiors
"The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like a leaf until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains."
I tell myself so many days, that this is the one I die upon. That despite whatever they carve into my headstone, it is today that my soul truelly left my body.
If that is true, then as something dies, so something must be born. Dolores, Chiyo, Mathilda...you will always find us, if you know what to look for.
"You have to be an artist and a madman, a creature of infinite melancholoy"
And now, this time, I will tell my story as I can best recall it. Perhapes by the end of these pages, I will find my heart beating again...not quite as done as I had suspected it so.
Our story begins with a man who's face I can no longer recall. Infact, I often wonder if I was able ever to see those features at all. Perhapes now, with so much time between us, I have left them blank in my memory so that they might be altered and shifted depeninging upon my love at the time. I will start with him, because he is the first Humbert this precious Lolita ever encountered. I will tell you about the candy he gave to be greedy outstretched hands and the pictures I drew in crayon (oh how I adored the scent of a brand new box of wax colored crayons). There pictures of happy places and scenes in which the two of us where always smiling as lovers do, I would put in the compartment behind his seat and spend days delighing over the idea of him finding them. My secret. Our secret.
I tell myself so many days, that this is the one I die upon. That despite whatever they carve into my headstone, it is today that my soul truelly left my body.
If that is true, then as something dies, so something must be born. Dolores, Chiyo, Mathilda...you will always find us, if you know what to look for.
"You have to be an artist and a madman, a creature of infinite melancholoy"
And now, this time, I will tell my story as I can best recall it. Perhapes by the end of these pages, I will find my heart beating again...not quite as done as I had suspected it so.
Our story begins with a man who's face I can no longer recall. Infact, I often wonder if I was able ever to see those features at all. Perhapes now, with so much time between us, I have left them blank in my memory so that they might be altered and shifted depeninging upon my love at the time. I will start with him, because he is the first Humbert this precious Lolita ever encountered. I will tell you about the candy he gave to be greedy outstretched hands and the pictures I drew in crayon (oh how I adored the scent of a brand new box of wax colored crayons). There pictures of happy places and scenes in which the two of us where always smiling as lovers do, I would put in the compartment behind his seat and spend days delighing over the idea of him finding them. My secret. Our secret.