What shall I do? Shall I read to you a poem I find repulsive, from a writer that I otherwise tend to enjoy? Would you see what I meant in the first place, should I post Ode to A Grecian Urn?
I suppose you would. But if you didn’t…
Perhaps I would do better to give a sketch of a story I once saw.
There is a wolf in it. And a unicorn…but…as I think of it, I see two major flaws in the story that ruin its illustrative purposes, as well as several interpretations that all bode ill for me, personally. I shall not tell it.
I don’t know…it’s like the drownings.
I never questioned whether she would, because I knew I would not allow it. She is always still alive. In every telling. But nobody ever questioned whether I could drown, and I have been drowned three times…once hypothetically, once in a dream, and once in my own words. All of us did it.
Except that between the three of us, I know I am immortal.
I don’t need to try and stop it happening because it already has and is and will be, and I don’t fear an ending because I cannot imagine an end, even after the waves come and the heart ceases to beat. That does not concern me because I still am. All that might tempt me is the reversal of what has been. I know it would be for naught, but it would tempt me, and the only reason I am not still hung up on it is because I’ve been offered this opportunity to move away from the water.
I could stop drowning.
My only hesitation is the not knowing whether the cessation of my drowning will make me truly mortal.
It could happen.
In the mean time…