Monday, July 12, 2004


Was sitting in an empty pantry, preparing for a really long work week. Thought about the film I just watched last night with V, "The Girl with a Pearl Earring." And also thinking about me and V. Passion. A kind of passion that one takes to the grave. Death and passion. How ironic. But always, I think of them both at the same instant. How closely knit they are. To think of life at its most vibrant, most glorious, is also to contrast it to death. I love V. And maybe beyond the drumbeats of my heart, he has come to be a part of my soul. The smoke that rises from the heat in my veins. The steady, cool rock beneath my feet. I love him so. And then there... as I think of my love for him. I think of my own death. And how I will take his embrace to my grave. Like that Vermeer painting... beyond the moments that built up to make such a masterpiece, there is one image that remains. One smoldering, priceless image that survives separation, death, forgetfulness.

1 comment:

ViVAgLAm! said...

1. The pantry seems to be your regular setting for thoughts about Vier. Can I conclude that you (consciously or subconsciously) equate Vier with food?
2. "The smoke that rises from the heat in my veins"... Vier = Smoked Ham. (H'es not reading this anyway. He won't get mad at me.)

Okay, okay. I was just being silly. This one is beautiful. It actually makes the reader "hear" your heart's drumbeats. (I can even hear jungle sounds now! Oh. That's just Discovery Channel in the background.) =D

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