Even Shakespeare assumed fundamental truths about the fundament that turned out to be wrong.
Who knows what lies I believe, or you do. Who knows what we shouldn’t doubt.
Tonight, under the sky, she asked me, “Why do all the ones about me have quotes from The Tempest? Is it because we are shipwrecked?”
Yes. Yes, it is because we are shipwrecked. I hit refresh after reading it, just in case, and there was a new entry, posted minutes before.
“There’s an expression in classical music. It goes, ‘We went out to the meadow.’
It’s for those evenings that can only be described in that way: There were no walls, there were no music stands, there weren’t even any instruments.
There was no ceiling, there was no floor, we all went out to the meadow. It describes a feeling.”
I know she’s reading this right now. (Hi.) I felt like we went out to the meadow tonight, only we weren’t playing music.
In the best conversations, you don’t even remember what you talked about, only how it felt.
It was like we weren’t even there, lying together by the pool. It felt like we were in some place your body can’t visit,
some place with no ceiling and no walls and no floor and no instruments.
And that really should have ended my evening. But instead of going to sleep, I decided to torture myself by reading more Ayala stories.
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