we used to dream the biggest dreams we used to dream the biggest dreams

Photograph

He jumped out of bed and searched for all the little notes he had written about her. It took a while, he had saved them in so many different pockets and drawers, but finally he could put them all in her lap, notes and scraps and napkins filled with words. Read it, he said. And he waited impatiently for her face to move as she read. Often she would smile and shake her head, and sometimes she was very serious. When she was done, she sat for a while, thinking. Some of it is true, she said, and some of it is wrong. There’s more sense to it than I thought. It’s all very beautiful. Will you stay, then? No, she said with something like a smile. But, can’t you see that… I thought you liked it? Yes, I like your notes. I like us in them. There are all sorts of lovely in your world of paper scraps. But it is not about these notes, even if they had all been true. It’s about the note that’s not here, she said, and despite the deep, sad twinge in his hand as she got up, like a bite from a tired old snake, his fist was still helplessly clenched around a piece of paper when she left.

He jumped out of bed and searched for all the little notes he had written about her. It took a while, he had saved them in so many different pockets and drawers, but finally he could put them all in her lap, notes and scraps and napkins filled with words. Read it, he said. And he waited impatiently for her face to move as she read. Often she would smile and shake her head, and sometimes she was very serious. When she was done, she sat for a while, thinking. Some of it is true, she said, and some of it is wrong. There’s more sense to it than I thought. It’s all very beautiful.

Will you stay, then?

No, she said with something like a smile.

But, can’t you see that… I thought you liked it?

Yes, I like your notes. I like us in them. There are all sorts of lovely in your world of paper scraps. But it is not about these notes, even if they had all been true. It’s about the note that’s not here, she said, and despite the deep, sad twinge in his hand as she got up, like a bite from a tired old snake, his fist was still helplessly clenched around a piece of paper when she left.



December, 2009