Epiphanyby
xianartComment by posthumous: Yes. Yes. Yes. There are gods and angels who live among us, and you found them. You brought them, living, to my eyes, cupped in your subjects like the water of youth in trembling hands.
You knew dpc would not understand, right? They would not see the connection between the windows in the back and the window of light this couple dwells in. They would not see the essential difference of light between his face and hers, as he gazes upon her, as she gazes upon them. They will not notice her step towards the piano, as though frozen in a movement toward music, or climbing into a plane to some country Humphrey Bogart will never see again. They will not see the strange, painful, chaotic love of the guitar for the piano. They may not even notice where the epiphany is inscribed. Nor will they realize that the trees through the windows are the very ones out of which humanity climbed in order to hunt on the plains, to shake spears and cavort in cocktail lounges.
But you submitted it anyway, to be dismissed, to be forgotten, to be tinkled with advice about being too close to the edge. It is the essential cruelty that parents cannot avoid, the introduction of creation to Creation. I commend you for that, and I award you this worthless intangible shred, the Posthumous Blue Ribbon.
(they also did not notice that her right arm is missing, and stamped with a dark cross... perhaps a price she had to pay. I wonder if she also sold away her voice, like the mermaid.)
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