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alasanonHe held me in his hands and told me this story:
She had a fantastic grasp of the inconsequential. Useful things, day-to-day life, the clicking bricks that ordinary people use to construct their lives -- these things, she had no use for. But the minutae of moments, the rudimentary whispers of cloth over skin, of hair over fingertips, of coffee cups being dropped one by one into wastebaskets all over the town, these, these she loved. She wanted to catalogue every possible tiny moment, every spider spinning, every dog sniffing a pole past which countless other dogs had wandered, every cry of every child who just wasn't, at that moment, getting precisely what he or she wanted. All of these things, she felt, added up to a beautiful vast symphony of life.
No one agreed with her, of course. They were too busy thinking of Things That Mattered.
---
I stopped him, curious about what he felt was really important. If she loved tiny things, did he also? There was a skirmish of jealousy creeping about behind my question, as I found it impossible to admit to him that I, too was the sort who considered the larger things more essential, and was hoping (desperately, quietly) that he would say that he never understood her obsessions.
He looked at me kindly, but would not answer my question.
She had a fantastic grasp of the inconsequential. Useful things, day-to-day life, the clicking bricks that ordinary people use to construct their lives -- these things, she had no use for. But the minutae of moments, the rudimentary whispers of cloth over skin, of hair over fingertips, of coffee cups being dropped one by one into wastebaskets all over the town, these, these she loved. She wanted to catalogue every possible tiny moment, every spider spinning, every dog sniffing a pole past which countless other dogs had wandered, every cry of every child who just wasn't, at that moment, getting precisely what he or she wanted. All of these things, she felt, added up to a beautiful vast symphony of life.
No one agreed with her, of course. They were too busy thinking of Things That Mattered.
---
I stopped him, curious about what he felt was really important. If she loved tiny things, did he also? There was a skirmish of jealousy creeping about behind my question, as I found it impossible to admit to him that I, too was the sort who considered the larger things more essential, and was hoping (desperately, quietly) that he would say that he never understood her obsessions.
He looked at me kindly, but would not answer my question.
