the lost man chronicles
book two: the art of love
the last lost girl chronicles 11: parting (really, this is the end)
where to now? now that i know we were going nowhere but round and around in this vicious cycle of my dreams? and why was i so seemingly mean in the end? it was all cathartic blathering you know, none of it necessary, and all of it an insensitive flatulence of the heart.
that's all, and maybe that's all that it ever was.
but it was—and what it was, was quite sincere and earnest. never was there a moment that i tried to deceive you. for once we fully understood each other i told you everything, honestly. alas, i know—i know we can never fully understand one another, especially if we never really fool heartedly understand ourselves.
nonetheless, i was quite thrilled in the throes of this delusion which, for a moment, convinced me that i understood something about you that no else did—the sheer and simple will, the conversational allusions and ribald rhetoric that led nowhere, the staggering wanderlust, the wandering heart searching to jumpstart someone who knows when and how to hold you and where and why to let you go.
and all the more, now, i will probably hold on to this deceiving glean into you, believing, as i pursue on my own, that i alone—understood you.
thus, if we must, adieu turtledove. adieu , my old world wild bird, adieu.
the art of living the art of love