The camera clicked and I studied the pose he made. Fluent. Graceful. Poised. A generalization of all ballet dancers, admittedly, but the words were more so pertinent to him than anyone else I knew. Lines were blurred, focus was on one thing and one thing only. His movement was akin to a dance, even though it was a mere walk. His body was curved in a beautiful arc; his head and fingertips pointed upwards; to the one thing that was always in the distance, just waiting. Waiting for someone to believe it, to notice it, perhaps. To, I suppose, Heaven.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Dupe/Quagmire/Clockwork Drabble for Squeaky.
I am a dupe. That is to say, I am easily deceived. Deceived by my emotions and his, sucked into a whirlwind of deep despair, a quagmire of guilt and heartache. Am I to blame for this deception? Probably in part. Will I recover from it? Most likely. My mind still ticks. My heart beats steadily. My body moves like clockwork, although it feels like it has been destroyed. What have I done to deserve this? I continue to ask myself. I will never have the answer, or I secretly do not wish to know. I sink further into darkness.
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