When I'm talking to her, everything I meant to say goes out of my head. I remember just a bit later. This is so dangerous, so good.

And I think you ought to know-- or someone ought-- there is no She on my horizon. There are only shes. No Her, ta'keh, her. Not anymore.

It's more than removing a permission from a wall, a photo from a corkboard, and it's not the sort of thing that merits removing a name from a friend's list or a phone book. It's more the way a subject is changed with darling deftness, the way words are not said and not said, and while I could, of course be wrong, if the words are what I think they are... well. I would survive it. I would know she was serious.

There would still be certain songs that made me cry, but that would be all.

And I don't think this really has anything to do with the dangerous one that makes all the words go out of my head, who maybe smacks too much of someone else I've never seen but only dreamed of, but it could, it could.

<<agé chose>>

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