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i once met a girl, a shimmering beauty of darkest brown and deepest countenance, and she gave to me the greatest of all the gifts i have had the fortune to recieve.
her presentation was not a physical one, her gift not material, and it's value could be measured financially only if one were of a mind to pay for joy.
she has stayed within me, a fleeting snapshot of a better life in my minds eye, a glimmer of the street i could live on if i so chose. the choosing is the travail, as nonsensical as it sounds. the blackness of my mind in the hours of consideration is all consuming, and leaves no room for the edification of my soul; though the choices may be simple, the process of choosing is not.
take the mind away, and without jest, i would say that i am a lighter and better man. with this mind, the tool of my trade, i am wont to whittle down the circumstance of my life to such a degree as to forestall any ambition.
an appropriate device for the quoshing of that side of creativity that is a slave to sensation without substance, this self censure and mental corner-painting is none the less a hindrance to the execution of my will.
and so to the lady.
the lovely Negar, with her hair of deepest black, and her smile of brightest white; she gives me the hole in the fence, the glimpse of the future, a preview of the path guarded by my own shameful reluctance.
for this, i am eternally grateful, and forever in her thrall. |
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