Walking tonight on the golf course behind Nana's house, I looked up and saw a break in the sheet of fast-moving clouds, and, despite all Wilmington's streetlamps, more stars within than I can see from Apex on a clear night. I stared for a while, sitting on that downy golf-course grass, and then came the payoff -- a meteor that sliced a long white furrow overhead, momentarily the brightest object in sight.
As the stars regained their prominence, I wondered what I might say at this moment, were I not alone. I knew I was gambling all along; and I told myself it wasn't about the ending. And I'm past that now. But I still dread that, next time around, when stone burns an arc above and I murmur into an ear, I'll remember those words from before.
Which brings me to question why I place such value on love. Certainly it's a pleasant neurochemical cocktail, perhaps even worth living for -- if it could be relied upon. It can't, but neither can entertainment, thrills, careers, or causes. Religion will supply a most satisfying sense of purpose, if you're easily convinced that reality will contort itself to fit your faith.
As if reading the encyclopedia for hours at a time wasn't evidence enough of my wits' descent...
posted on Sunday, September 19, 2004
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