I read and write every day. I'm miserable if I don't. This, I know, will sound, very very strange, while I read and write but it's for a moment as if I've forgotten that there is anything beyond the here and now. Just as there exists in writing a literal truth and a poetic truth, there also exists in a human being a literal anatomy and a poetic anatomy. One you can see, one you cannot. One is made of bones and teeth and flesh; the other is made of energy and memory and faith. But they are both equally true.
Here at 7 o'clock in the evening, I realize this is how each day should end, in the fading sunset light, and my fingers still on the keys of my laptop…
No comments:
Post a Comment