When I saw that, the evidence left by two people, of love or something like it, desire at least, at least touch, between two people now perhaps old or dead, I covered the bed again and lay down on it. I looked up at the blind plaster eye in the ceiling. I wanted to feel Luke lying beside me. I have them, these attacks of the past, like faintness, a wave sweeping over my head. Sometimes it can hardly be borne. What is to be done, what is to be done, I thought. There is nothing to be done. They also serve who only stand and wait. Or lie down and wait. I know why the glass in the window is shatterproof, and why they took down the chandelier. I wanted to feel Luke lying besides me, but there wasn't room.
Margaret AtwoodWhich of us can resist the temptation of being thought indispensable?
Margaret AtwoodTag: temptation indispensable
We immortals aren't misers - we don't hoard! Such things are pointless.
Margaret AtwoodTag: hoarding
Creating some god for one's inspirations was always a good way to avoid accusations of pride should the scheme succeed, as well as the blame if did not.
Margaret AtwoodTag: hypocrisy
Even an obvious fabrication is some comfort when you have few others.
Margaret AtwoodTag: self-delusion
I wish I didn't have to think about you. You wanted to impress me; well, I'm not impressed, I'm disgusted...You wanted to make damn good and sure I'd never be able to turn over in bed again without feeling that body beside me, not there but tangible, like a leg that's been cut off. Gone but the place still hurts.
Margaret AtwoodTag: sleep alone phantom-limb
Now I wanted to be acknowledged, but I feared it.
Margaret AtwoodI wanted to forget the past, but it refused to forget me; it waited for sleep, then cornered me.
Margaret AtwoodI try to congure, to raise my own spirits, from wherever they are. I need to remember what they look like. I try to hold them still behind my eyes, their faces, like pictures in an album. But they won't stay still for me, they move, there's a smile and it's gone, their features curl and bend as if the paper's burning, blackness eats them. A glimpse, a pale shimmer on the air; a glow, aurora, dance of electrons, then a face again, faces. But they fade, though I stretch out my arms towards them, they slip away from me, ghosts at daybreak. Back to wherever they are. Stay with me, I want to say. But they won't.
It's my fault. I am forgetting too much.
Tag: dystopian
As it says in the Bible, For now we through a glass, darkly; but then face to face.
If it is face to face, there must be two looking.
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