“Time still, as he flies, brings increase to her truth, and gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.”
– Edward Moore, The Happy Marriage
A note to you, my love, snoring on your pillow or in front of the teevee, hard evidence of the Great Unity refracted through the moment:
A partnership is an organism that fights to live, and its demands are nothing if not honest: that is, simply, to begin at the beginning and go until it won’t go anymore, then stop – but not before. Never before.
(It’s tacky to play the end at the beginning. Is that what we’re doing? Pshaw.)
Make no mistake, my love. Same as I ever was – from the first instant I fought kicking and screaming through the barrier of Light and Sound – I am nothing if not stubborn.
I promise nothing less than a good fight. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. And when it genuinely doesn’t go anymore, we’ll simply see if you and I are up to the task of letting it.
All the same, I can’t shake a persistent, lingering hope:
The hope that the whole of our life together still exists somewhere up on the cloud. Exists even now. Light upon Light, preserved in a chain like a strip of film – so that some kind or interested party might someday thread it back round through the machine of Time, and play it once again.
Ring, The Evolution Store, SoHo; Dress, Topshop.
