the more I talk to my husband, the more unsettled I feel about myself, though not in a bad way. I used to always connect to people somewhat like me (naturally), but I suppose I was living in a magical insulated forest until recently — the world out there has such rigid lines and paths, along with its inhabitants. That's how things are. That's how things have always been. There are limits to things.
Except that there aren't. Or they don't have to be like that, at the very least. If you go left and right and can no longer move, fly. Burrow into the earth and reach the molten core of the world. Bend, twist, put water on or set fire to it. Braid it, break it, mix it with something else. Whatever doesn't work for you shall be created into something new. Sing the universe into creation. Make it queer, bent, phenomenal, shiver-inducing, strange and mysterious. Salivate about it.
How often I have heard you are quite... unique from men I loved. I know they meant strange, and it didn't hurt me. Aren't you unique? Aren't you unreplicable and beautiful, too? I might be too deep — this, I will accept. But then... Do you want to stay in the shallow? There be monsters! Yes, but they are in the shallows too. My monsters hold promises and precious jewels, at least, gargantuan and mesmerising.
When the Southern Fish rises into the heavens, leaving its native waters for a foreign element, whoever at this hour takes hold of life will spend his years about sea-shore and river-bank he will capture fish as they swim poised in the hidden depths; he will cast his greedy eyes into the midst of the waters, craving to gather pellucid stones (pearls) and, immersed himself, will bring them forth together with the homes of protective shell wherein they lurk.
It was foretold, after all. Pearls, and crushing depths, and the otherworldly existence of creatures underwater. I shall bathe in pearls.
areudirty
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