The Herald - VII

I looked then at the lines drawn into my hand
(the ones some try to read but fail)
empty and afraid to look down

"They weren't bad things," I whispered. "They were good."

"Yes. They are beautiful beautiful things. No one can fault you for wanting them. You can look down. Don't worry."

Nothing there of course. Dusty. Never saw it so dusty. I should clean this room. Light changes everything.

"And you worked hard didn't you?"
My eyes tightened. "Yes."
"And you think if you only worked harder...or sacrificed more..."

of course...

"...you would have them at last. These dreams. And why were you holding so tight?"
"Because they're..."
"Yours? What is yours?"

I know...I know...

"I was afraid that...I wouldn't get them back."
"You can control that can you?"

Rhetoric silence. It's the part in the film where the reprise starts.

But in my mind I heard it still...the descent, the death, the rise. The Eastern curtain lifts. Empty hands can hold anything. But for now I take hers.

oilgraph (series) 7/8