Shadows on a white wall
The shadows twist in me and I see them twist in others. Not always the same way, not always the same magnitude, not always the same degree of wrench - how does one measure a twist? A twistitude?
My walking capacity still much reduced, I'd spent a day or two at home going through some boxes of papers, scavenging through memories which seem to have accumulated and multiplied through the years. I seem to keep an amazing amount of things which I may never need again, no doubt due to my thirst for detail, for clear recollection of ... anything. But a whole stack of Maths notes went - I might have been good at mathematics once, but I can no longer antidifferentiate trigonometric equations, let alone make sense of my old workings.
And so the shadows twist too, in boxes, slowly, stealthily, thieving time. Days slip through my fingers with sweet honeyed viscosity, stinging like papercuts so that I can't forget.
Posted by sniffles at July 07, 2002 11:58 PM