Murder is one and loving is another, not thinking, passing just to know at the end of day that we are still breathing and can get a smile out of the elevator man, testing our wit on his passivity. He takes us down from the hard acts we have performed. He carries us back to the ground, where we have something to step on that does not complain. We are leaving behind the dead and heading for new beginnings, for old endings. The victim is known. Here I am and there you look at me as if I had been the one to kill you and I have not yet told you what I think. It's when the dead come to life again that I leave. I dread returning. |