And last night, with my lids pulled over me, I went on seeing as if I were an open window. Full of wind. I wasn't lying in peaceful darkness, that darkness I desired, that peace I needed. My whole head was lit with noises, yet no Sunday park could have been more lonely: thoughts tossed away, left like litter to be blown about and lost. There were long avenues of footfall, leaf flutter lacking leaf or trees, barks unreturned to their dogs.
Crusher thought Crusher wanted to say something about this passage, but no. Res ipsa loquitor.
2 comments:
Sometimes even a Crusher has to simply love the words for what they are.
Great work.
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