Sunday, February 11, 2007

Catharsis...

When the chrysalis splits, when the warmth and familiarity and routine comfort give way suddenly, unexpectedly, and something brand new and yet faintly familiar begins (again) like a slow dawning that floods your torpid being with the blood of gods, well, sometimes it only takes a few lucid minutes—the sun streaming in unbidden on your worried mind between swatches of dark clouds, the bracing cold piercing your exiled body like a billion icy needles on a moonlit walk to the metro station—to realize that the insular place you were in was a little thing called hell, and heaven is simply that feeling of freedom you'd somehow managed to forget while wrapping the tawdry trappings again and again like a tourniquet around your crude form until they almost felt like folded wings...

...almost.

2 comments:

Nick said...

So, your saying it was cold on the way to the metro the other morning?

iconoclasst said...

Yep.