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Crevice Weeds Writings—«waifs of many a wreck»—motley and fragmentary writings—sketchy and faulty—failed, perhaps—unconfined—along the borders, upon the thresholds and into the chinks of literature, «as foam that the sea-winds fret»…

A Shape Seen Half Asleep

Alessandro Zabini




Once, while he was desperate and cried, he wrote the following words…

«… looking out into the mirror for her, beloved as never before, a smile on her face, so sweet, she looks into my eyes, and I say words of love to her, and she smiles sadly without words, a sad smile on her silent lips, she turns her face, so lovely, towards the depths of the mirror, and looks lovingly into a face not mine, and so shining she is, her light dazzling on me, not afar but anear to her is the one she looks to, so she will never come to me, never as alway though I love her, she will never come to me… looking out into the mirror for her, and hoping for her happiness, alone in love from afar, sweet illusion to be loved by her, so sweet and beautiful an illusion as ever by fate decreed…»

And then, when he had ceased up to cry, he met her, and all was ended forever. And when a gentle beautiful woman startled back, eyes wide, because it was clearly impossibile to walk along side by side, he smiled, alone and afar, he smiled with no sadness, no agony, no desperation…

… walking in darkness along the whispering wood, scrying the silver trace of light over the lake, bordered by motherly hills under the white full Moon, awaiting to see Her, searching and losing, slowly, finding and awaiting to hear Her voice, feeling Her growing inside whilst falling slowly inside, starting for a long walk on an unknown trace, feeling larger and lighter, nevermore afar from these shores and silver waters, no more body is border between soul and shores, no more …

… a breeze over snowy mountains, a purring kitten, a dry dark land, a dust cloud dancing in the sunlight and a blue-hazed wooded ridge, stood the memories behind him, not a burden anymore, treading alight Her traces over the shadowy traces into the deep dark woods, and out of the hooded crow, in the blue shade of the trembling tree, over the dark-green grass, deep in the blue breeze blowing, She sadly smiled at him and lovingly whispered to him there was a choice, perhaps, but truth would be only in something beyond words, a chance meeting, a mutual acknowledgement, a choice by a woman, the resolution to walk along and fight together side by side, a sacred love offered in the deep of the forest, a love not to be disdained, awaiting as the coming of their sisters is always awaited by Her Daughters …







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