A Night in Big Sky Mind

(a protrait of [identity-protected] taken last week courtesy of the Big Bash)

...And so they talked throughout the night under the eyes of the grotesquerie on the walls. Rather, he talked; she listened, sitting on the ancient moldy sofa with a constant hand bearing a cigarette.

He said the reason he could never speak about their love was because words had power, and that words limited what-could-be into what-is. But he also said their love was bigger than any word that he could find. That was why, he said, he wrote stories: because he knew such words would serve as poor analogues of the vastness of the heart.

And since words have power, at the moment of the last word of his declaration, he felt himself dissolve and blow away in the dust...