Penny Loaves

louder, louder

That Friday afternoon I fell asleep to the sound of rain, soaking the ground, melting the snow.

I dreamed. Stumbling alone across bloodsoaked trails, through the first snows of winter, through the dying gasps of autumn, of friendship, of love, I dreamed. Haunted? Perhaps, though these three years it's often felt more as though I've returned to that barren, forsaken plain than it to me. To the tired, lonely, the despairing of spring, that bleak sky calls: to rest, to death. Dying, sleeping, I dreamed.

I awake on a bed of marble, on cliffs of ivory, above shining seas of glass.

I am alone.



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look, contribution!

by the way, if you've only heard of Jorge Luis Borges in context of a high-school "spanish culture" lesson, you really check him out. it's well worth your while, i promise -- especially if the measure of "your while" can be taken from the five minutes you just spent reading this brainshit.

posted by ben @ 9:55 PM