The Archive

Saturday, 18 October 2014


Dear Grimm,

The wedding, it’s a wedding - my own wedding. A chapel old; and seats adorned with people. Then the white dress starts to come. A woman I’ve never seen before appears, an angel, glorious: slim, delicate, a curvaceous spool of symmetry… oh she’s glorious; I wish I could describe her in exquisite detail, but alas the veil. Wait no, I do see her face. I watch her dance forth… no she walks… glides to my side. I see her smile: it’s perfect; it doesn’t cut up and spoil her cheek, quite the contrary, it ripens it further; a little nick of pure joy. And those lips, her lips

she wears red lipstick

Then the veil is gone: the smile has kissed me, but now the face possesses me. It’s exotic - just - you can tell. Her eyes hold my gaze like nothing before or since, luscious brown, big; that cute smile, red. The ceremony begins and the ceremony finishes. We kiss; the best kiss, the loving kind and more. I open my eyes, and her eyes are closed, beautifully. I feel her hair - it is soft. It folds in the palms, loosens. I hold it tight…
But that’s where the punchline is - I’m not holding her hair tight, I’m holding something in her hair tight: a solid, brutal hilt; the hilt of a knife, an endless knife. And all this time, I never hear a thing. The whole picture is silent: the screams, if they were there, are no more and never were. She cannot scream because we kiss, and so beautifully too - even the crowd is unmoved.
I’ve dreamt it a thousand times, and still I kill her - I pursue the same end through the same means.
But I love her,
Oh how I love her,

And I cry every time.


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