In the Interim

Sometimes I am too philosophical for my own good as a writer. I blab on about 'meaning of life' until the reader no longer understands an iota of it! So if this doesn't communicate anything at all, PLEASE tell me!

It is in the quiet places between breath and wall; doorways, thresholds and cracked windows- the interim positions in space and time that the most intimate and lasting connections seem to be made. With cheek and hand pressed firmly against the newly-closed door we make our sacred vows and vigilant prayers of change and solitude. Like whispers to a sleeping lover- these promises are good for naught but self-preservation for no one may depend on an oath they know nothing about. But within this there is a sense of freedom- nothing at face value when these impermanent words touch others' souls.

 

The very best of friends may be bound by nothing more than unspoken codes of personal integrity. Codes which once voiced, destroy all that bound these two imperfect beings, for in speaking they come to understand the faults hidden behind giggles and supportive blather; faults that cannot be forgiven.

 

Or perhaps, like drops of dew, we will only come again, when in eternal lines to time the old affection grows, and in seeking to transmute this to aquaintenceship, we find instead the fire of love. When hence shall we see the delta- an end to river's flow? When tears and sorrows are spent, will we find in the pool of brine a bark to take us afar, or is it only in interim spaces that we find our lasting peace, and no decision at all can say right or wrong?

 

I do not know.

Reviews

[The Darkest Silhouette]

yes, it worked, though my understanding of it may be vaguer than you intended

i wish i could write stories life this, the most i can pull in the philosophical style are essays and poems

come to think of it, you should read my poem dreams, this really reminded me of it