[ The girl asks without asking, says without saying, and the wind in the trees and the animals of the swamp and the stars in the sky which aren't stars at all but gnats and fireflies and things alive and dead — all of it echoes in drawn out chorus together and perhaps that echo, a question regiven, is the boy's answer. Nothing is one, save the One who Walked In, not even the Twelve and their Noah blood, not even the legion born of that blood, not even Zero himself. So this world, in its unity, with its single voice made of a chorus of voices, how could it possibly be real?
But what of the girl in it, the girl of it, who made it. The girl who smiles without moving her mouth in a way that maybe, just maybe, is kind?
Every time he steps backwards she moves forward in kind, the motion small and nearing imperceptible and yet she is closer and closer still. ]
no subject
[ The girl asks without asking, says without saying, and the wind in the trees and the animals of the swamp and the stars in the sky which aren't stars at all but gnats and fireflies and things alive and dead — all of it echoes in drawn out chorus together and perhaps that echo, a question regiven, is the boy's answer. Nothing is one, save the One who Walked In, not even the Twelve and their Noah blood, not even the legion born of that blood, not even Zero himself. So this world, in its unity, with its single voice made of a chorus of voices, how could it possibly be real?
But what of the girl in it, the girl of it, who made it. The girl who smiles without moving her mouth in a way that maybe, just maybe, is kind?
Every time he steps backwards she moves forward in kind, the motion small and nearing imperceptible and yet she is closer and closer still. ]
WHAT IS YOUR SADNESS? HOW IS IT REAL?