There’s a fine line between honesty and cruelty; it breaks like a tidal wave. I used to like long talks and walks by the ocean. Now I find myself between minds: yours and mine; mine before encountering yours, barefoot in the intertidal zone. I am swept away by your confidence, drowned out by your years. I fan myself under your magnificence.
Yet always the waves break, and our minds erode and change and blend into one another. We walk along this rocky shore, never quite touching but always wanting to. We don’t say anything, and in saying nothing say everything. Our language is prelapsarian, primeval, speechless. We trace the contours of this magnetism with our toes in the sand, under the wool blanket–now full of sand, the seagulls crying, the light dying.
We wonder what it would be like to walk alone, exchanging thoughts like pebbles and clenching our fists.
Yet always the waves break, bringing us back to our separate selves. I look at your thought and drop it, and the waiting words come: I am of my own mind again. Walking away, you become a shadow of my former self. You gave me this dimension, this vanishing, this fashioning of bodies into glass.