Z.,
With no space for action, yet again words would have to take the leap;
For some time, the thought of you has pained me,
But I’m unsure of what you might think, or what you already think, or even what I feel. My intentions were simple, an act in itself without malice. At least, that is what the vacuum of my thoughts tell me.
A simple question for a simple act; why was it so paralyzing to ask? Why did, time and time again, I stare listlessly into the unknown, vision blurring with strain, instead of doing the simple task I have ordered upon myself?
The question begs the possibilities. A myriad of images, of rejection, of trying to explain why—when I myself could not answer—of thinking the impossible. The restlessness in my seat, the empty words exchanged, the awkward dialogue, the flattened lines of conversation… They say this, and they say that. I fall silent and let them to their suppositions. I quietly let them prey to their own labyrinthine, Byzantine schemes, that they may distractedly plow a path which I and… we… I could guide you through and give myself time to think,
In either case that may be impossible now, for lo, one such ruse from Machiavelli throws me off and keeps me away… the foul snake must seek you now for his prize. That, alas, is the law of the land; heartless souls will enrapture the maiden, and use her to no end, and pity the fool, the bard who doth nothing but sing songs of woe.
Why, in the solace of my inner turmoil, and the turbulence of my emotions, could I not have uttered those few simple words? Not as you think it, for as I have said my mind is not my own. Nay, it is overthrown—by the world and its follies.
You were the one soul that knew Fiammetta, and it was from there that I felt that we were somehow, kin. Kin not in blood, nay, nay, but kin in spirit. E’er since then ‘twere only two I thought deeply of, and with Fiammetta’s wake, ’tis more’s the pity, ’tis more’s the need. (Forgive me, my thoughts have failed me and all I could channel was that one word. A paltry measure to an unfathomable chasm of emotion)
Ai! Ai! What shadows possess my very being, gripping me in animated terror! Dost thou know how long it has been e’er since I’ve put thought into pen? The mockery of the critics, the cynics and woe-begotten paralyzed my hands for too long. In either case, long have I wondered, and questioned my own heart. It meant nothing, you see? It was a simple act, brought on by need.
Cursed Providence! Oh hallowed Earth! I am stricken and left a fool anew! For Iago he has played his hand; and played well it was. It would seem even the simple question, the simple act is impossible now; the whole affair has become moot and academic.
In either case, had I but asked, what would you have answered? If there was but time, or maybe chance, that I could take you to any place, without strings, attachments, preconditions or expectations, for a moment, what would you have said? How would you have answered?
