He says he loves me and that that 'knowledge' of his love should counter the doubts as if I am the fulcrum of my distress with all the affect of the past weighted down on one side & the apparent (but weightless) entity of 'his love' on the other, almost distant but below the horizon of the clouds.
If only i had the know-how to cast a prehensile gesture towards that sky bound, almost helium quality of love, it might assume form (perhaps a heart shaped balloon, with a tie -- then at least i would be connected with this lofty essence).
I am taken back to that archaic place where love meant hurting each other, where the skin splits open and blood oozes out, creating unforgettable wounds that yet need nursing in order to be remembered and thus to be forgotten. Where plates are smashed into faces and teeth fall out, brothers' fists break noses and create shattering voids in the doors and windows of containment.
In that place, 'i love you' virtually equates to mutual self-destruction -- so can anyone blame me for struggling to be able to use this miraculous elixir, this 'knowledge of love' to undo or outweigh the scattered fragments of myself consumed within those nursling traumata?
For this 'knowledge of love' to take on weight, the balloon must seemingly survive being pierced with all these shards of my annihilation before falling to the earth as substance. As beauty in its transcendent form. Absolute weightlessness yet heavier than any dead form.
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