ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย there is a story ,ย somewhere in the old worldย ย (ย here understood as that which is no moreย ย &ย ย all that has been lostย ย )ย ,ย about a man.ย except he was no man ,ย but a soldier ,ย not a soldier but a negotiator ,ย not a negotiator but a jedi.ย sometimes ,ย when he closes his eyes ,ย he can see the shape of him ,ย the grace of honor ,ย the sillhouete of an ideal.ย most times ,ย he can not picture shape nor shadow ,ย only a name which weights heavier than the entire galaxy and is all but buried now ,ย burnt to ashes in a planet made of fire.ย obi-wan kenobi once held the light of the galaxy in the palm of his hands ,ย so carefully he watered it and fed it.ย there is no more of that now โโย now there is only benย ,ย and the grains of sand spilling through his fingers.ย
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย (ย ย &ย this is what he tells himself at night ,ย when the touch of her soothe him into sleep ,ย as peaceful as it could beย :ย ย in the story ,ย the jedi had a best friend ,ย who had a great love ,ย who had a family and a home.ย that is just a story.ย he is only ben.ย )ย
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย padmรฉโs eyes glow against the sunย ,ย brown reflecting gold against beige ,ย and at times obi-wan forgets how stories ought to goย โย sometimes ,ย all there is is the soft curl of her lips ,ย ย the delicate pink of itย ,ย ย how her laugh sounds ,ย how the children cling to her with so much love it feels as though it could heal old wounds.ย it doesnโt ,ย but they can pretend , sometimes.ย ย other times ,ย it slips ,ย like holding water in your palms , or sand ,ย or the roughness of both against the skin now that all softness is gone from the world.ย ย ย โย ย when you put it like that.ย ย โย ย ย he says ,ย and the words linger in the air with no finalityย โย there is nothing to be said here ,ย when neither live by their own choices ,ย when their life ,ย or their pretend-make-believe-life ,ย is someone elseโs life.ย ย
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย instead ,ย he lowers his eyes to her hands ,ย to the dry-softness of it , to the paradoxical nature of all around him ,ย like the green in a vase in the corner in the middle of the desert ,ย or their not-themselves-themselves existence. his thumb grazes over her jaw , softly , lovingly , and he smiles.ย there is so much want hereย ย โย the kind of desire that stains.ย the tips of obi-wanโs fingers are stained with the desire of her ,ย or perhaps they are stained with the blood of him ,ย or perhaps they are both the same thingย :ย ย red , and thick ,ย and dripping over him.ย it saysย :ย ย this is what you took in the same way you took his life.ย you ,ย ย murderer.ย ย you ,ย thief.ย ย obi-wan stands in the place where he once stood ,ย drinks the love that he once spilled ,ย eats the bread that is hisย โโย regret is late and posthumous and sometimes not here at all ,ย just the memory of it , and the guilt ,ย and the paradoxical nature of some-kind-of-happiness.ย
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย โ ย i didnโt think it would be this sweet โฆย the fruit ,ย whatever it is called.ย ย โย ย ย he says , finally ,ย licking what remains of it off his thumb and fingers ,ย tasting the luxury that life sometimes givesย &ย often takes away.ย ย โ ย perhaps i should look for more of it next time we hit the market.ย ย โ ย ย ย ย ย
๐ฅ๐๐ญ ๐ฎ๐ฌ ๐ญ๐๐ฅ๐ค ๐จ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฎ๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐จ๐ญ๐๐ ๐ฐ๐จ๐ฆ๐๐ง.ย root-less woman and uninhabited and haunted , alone inside herself.ย let us talk about a body looking for what the body was before mourning ,ย this body which is a sanctuary in her likeness , an in-between place , a sort of domestic animal.ย she had been padmรฉ once & it is still padmรฉ's face staring back at her from the little shard of mirroed glass she keeps by the bed :ย ย sun-touched skin , freckles-kissed , older with wider hips , sand-scratched handsย , a woman rougher around all edges , & tired in ways she had never known herself to be.
๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ซ๐ซ๐จ๐ฐ ๐๐ง๐ ๐ญ๐๐ง๐๐จ๐ง ๐จ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐จ๐ซ๐ฒ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ก๐จ๐ฆ๐๐ฌ๐ข๐๐ค๐ง๐๐ฌ๐ฌ.ย the aftermath of war is two people waiting for grief to leave the table , only for quiet guilt to take its place.ย there is a sort of vulnerability in how her skin already knows his , all the lack of softness in his fingertips , the pressure of his palm to her face.ย war and the ending of it , which was the shadow of worser things , made lonely creatures of them both , two mutilated animals wary of open hands , but still craving it , the comfort of togetherness.ย &ย perhaps in other stories she would not have gone to him in the night , the last pieces of her heart in her hands , the straps of her gown sliding down her shoulders , with the gentlest , quietest whisper ofย pleaseย ย under her tongue.ย
๐๐ฎ๐ญ ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐จ๐ซ๐ฒ ๐จ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐๐ฆ , & if they will not have anything else , they might as well have each other.
padmรฉ-who-is-not-padmรฉ , here named sola , for the sister she now lacks , laughs lightly at obi-wan-not-general-not-jedi , who here is just ben , and sits besides him , where guilt might have sat if she gave it any more attention.ย she knows this is the wrong story , she knows this is the wrong man , that the children will someday not be children and ask questions that will cut like knives do โ but what stories are there to tell ?ย a dead father that like a ghost stays in the kitchen with them , a dead republic , dead dreams , dead friends.
& her chuckle suppresses all private guilt , the extinct color of her love returns to her cheeks. ย โ are you really playing with innuendo at the breakfast table ? โ