(no subject)
© Elias McConnell
Let us dream of it then, like a pyrotechnic display, of possibilities and probabilities and the projections of chance. Let us think tonight of this lifetime of gestures, of laughter and weeping and the encounter of lips. There is scope enough here for every manner of mistake but just time enough to forgive every last one. And away from this age, in some future place, we will watch as the skies themselves start to sway and ponder the alphabets as they lose all authority. Only then will the horizons fill up with light and the profound be found not remote in the stars but right here and before us in the holding of hands.
Ah, but it is just like us to look ahead in this way, to seek refuge in reverie, to confuse fortune for fate. Because right here and now, we are apart from the vision, as we rush through our chores, converse in our cars, and struggle each day to meet our practical purposes. But despite all the distance between the dream and the letter, let us look to the future and forecast it sincerely. And if we are to dream, then let us dream of each other, of this love and its endings and all the things in between. For it is within this imagining that we might meet our meanings. It is within this dreaming that we might know ourselves.