The Deck Arcana
WHO: The Orators (Afonso y Atthis)
WHEN: July 12th, twilight
WHERE: At the docks and on the harbor behind the Lakewood apartment complexes
WHAT: A man, a woman. A word, a moment. An opportunity and an opened door.
Loneliness was-
Ache. Trembling, insubstantial. The cold, the chill, the empty and the hollow. It was the cracks and fissures, not the smiles or the teeth sharp and white in the mouth of one who laughed because they wanted it and not because they needed it.
Loneliness was-
The hole in a soul etched tortuously in the silhouette of a woman born in fire and raised in hell to become Helene of Troy, a face to launch one thousand ships turned toward and then away. Back across the ocean with a fleet of regret and loss and insincerity to carry her there.
Loneliness was-
Being so terribly close to a young man not seen in years, living alongside him yet leagues apart. Desiring an embrace but, against nature, refusing it.
Loneliness was the whisper of the night breeze in her ear as Atthis lay still at the end of the dock, the gentle knocking of her boat against its boards beckoning her but not quite succeeding in rousing its mistress from her reveries. She had gone to sail and instead, suddenly struck from glancing at the horizon, had fallen and stayed there. Dwelling (not for the first time nor the last) on the 'could have', the 'would have', 'should have' and the 'did not'.
Loneliness was Atthis and Atthis felt alone.
WHEN: July 12th, twilight
WHERE: At the docks and on the harbor behind the Lakewood apartment complexes
WHAT: A man, a woman. A word, a moment. An opportunity and an opened door.
Loneliness was-
Ache. Trembling, insubstantial. The cold, the chill, the empty and the hollow. It was the cracks and fissures, not the smiles or the teeth sharp and white in the mouth of one who laughed because they wanted it and not because they needed it.
Loneliness was-
The hole in a soul etched tortuously in the silhouette of a woman born in fire and raised in hell to become Helene of Troy, a face to launch one thousand ships turned toward and then away. Back across the ocean with a fleet of regret and loss and insincerity to carry her there.
Loneliness was-
Being so terribly close to a young man not seen in years, living alongside him yet leagues apart. Desiring an embrace but, against nature, refusing it.
Loneliness was the whisper of the night breeze in her ear as Atthis lay still at the end of the dock, the gentle knocking of her boat against its boards beckoning her but not quite succeeding in rousing its mistress from her reveries. She had gone to sail and instead, suddenly struck from glancing at the horizon, had fallen and stayed there. Dwelling (not for the first time nor the last) on the 'could have', the 'would have', 'should have' and the 'did not'.
Loneliness was Atthis and Atthis felt alone.