- Vol. 03
- Chapter 04
I know nothing of line and form the fine interplays of skin and shadow Why, that single tendril of hair, those smoky clouds in the sick blue sky. Composition is a mystery, perspective but a magic trick. A brush in my hand? Mere instrument of destruction. A pitchfork in yours, inheritance. Accusation in your eyes, your judgment merited. Decades of tending the land, that fierce mistress, waking before dawn in the frozen dead air, longer than I have lived. I sit and lament the loss of internet connection, and you, you harbor sorrows sharp as spires. I shall love, find my own constant companion. I shall live, locking moments into thousands of tiny squares, laughter and sunrises. You will wait, clutching always your three pronged livelihood. I shall suffer loss, enough to split my small beating heart, tissue and blood, unprotected by oil paint. I shall expire, a small fire extinguished. And as the coals smolder, you will stare still.
You are eternal, a joyless, joyless fate.