Wednesday, 22 May 2013

Histories.

She lived in a time where the past was a weight to be forgotten and the future an idea too small to be considered. He lived in a world where the past, in all its intricacies, did not remain merely behind him but around, like a mist that he would pluck from and build into new shapes that he hoped sailed onward. The Kings of the East gave gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. She only saw the frankincense, he only saw the myrrh - neither, the gold. A golden age was not written for them.

When people harvest myrrh, they wound the trees repeatedly to bleed them of the gum.

That which is prized comes from the blood of thorns. We made love once under a coat of myrrh floating about us and she said I did not understand her. Which anecdote from her past did I fail to notice that I misjudged her so erroneously? We are all histories written in a separate tongue against the ones written of us.

4 comments:

  1. I don't have words to praise this. So intricate and beautiful.

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    1. Intricacies are had to decipher - perhaps I was lucky in doing so this time. Thank you.

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  2. So beautiful that it almost disturbs.

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    1. If it almost did, then I achieved what I set out to do. Thank you - and welcome :)

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