I sing the body electric
I glory in the glow of rebirth
Creating my own tomorrow
When I shall embody the earth
And I’ll look back on Venus
I’ll look back on Mars
And I’ll burn with the fire
Of 10 million stars
And in time
And in time
We will all be stars
This is not what I do
It’s the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you
It’s the wrong time
For somebody new
It’s a small crime
And I’ve got no excuse
-Damien Rice
I don’t know what the catalyst is. There’s no pattern I’ve recognized. New place, or one that we frequented, one with memories. Male companionship or female. Group or single. Someone new, someone just for me, or someone who loved us both. But sometimes. Sometimes after an evening out, I pull into the driveway, turn off the motor, and sit for a moment. Then I scream, over and over. Not your name, not anymore. Wordless. I didn’t know I was capable of this.
How do you like my darkness now?
BtVS, 5:1
Darkness is our companion this week. It’s what we’re talking about, typing late into the night. She wants to know why, why, and those of us who have incorporated the darkness into our lives struggle to find the words. But it’s pre-language. It’s cellular and tidal.
