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You ever look at someone and wonder if maybe she doesn’t belong down here because she’s got the moon shining from inside her face and you know that the moon’s supposed to be up there, glowing softly, the stars of her eyes and the night sky of her hair glimmering as she glides across midnight? But you don’t really mind that she’s here on earth, not at all, and you want to tell her that but you don’t want to tell her because then she might go back and even if she isn’t for you, you want her to stay.
…that sounded daft. How about this: You ever look at someone and wonder if maybe you’ve gone as daft as a poet because when you try to think, the only things that you can think of could come textbook-straight from a love poem?
And then, you wonder if maybe the poets aren’t so daft after all. You wonder if you should go to some bookstore and secretly look at a few poems to find out for yourself because you’ve never read a love poem before, even if you’re pretty sure you’re daft enough to write a perfectly good love poem.
I went once, the second year of training. Some poets were dafter than I was, some were less daft. And I know that I was a lot dafter in general when I was a trainee, a lot dafter than I am now.
I’m still pretty daft, of course.
You ever look at someone and wonder at how the truth is more beautiful than any fiction because you try to conjure her up from the whispers of the nighttime breeze stirring the treetops, from the quiet gurgling of the stream nestled between sturdy, sinuous roots of trees taller, more ancient than anything you can guess at, but what little you can make is nothing compared to the intricacies of any one glimpse you get of her?
And then, you wonder at how you find a goddess in a girl. You wonder at how she couldn’t be a goddess if she wasn’t a human. You wonder how you can wonder all of this and say that you don’t have a religion (you remember that you used to say religion was for the daft).
…that still sounds daft. Out of the mouths of mooncalves. Why am I thinking this? Why am I thinking all this when there are more important things to think about? Like…
…things that I can’t do anything about. Or things I don’t want to think about.
It’s so much easier to think about her and go daft instead. Ignore the glaring, clear as day shit that goes down in the world and pretend that the night will protect you while you sleep. I tried to be a good ignorer until what happened in Trost. I still let myself pretend sometimes.
Sometimes. Just for a little while, and then I wake up again.