The moon reflected the light of the sun in the same way a blade’s edge reflects light into the eyes of a victim. The faint moonlight lightly tapped his shoulders. The cold wind embraced him while he embraced his hopes for the night. This time he was ready. The words he carefully picked were tied up just below his throat, ready to burst out of his mouth at a moment’s notice.
He remembered something that Lucian of Samosata wrote about the Greek God, Momus. Momus criticized the work of Hephaestus, complaining about how humans were not given windows to their hearts. With their hearts closed to the outside world, their truest thoughts remain secret even to those closest to them.
But right now, his words must suffice. They have to. Even though they’re nowhere near as effective as a window to his heart. Words are more like a blind man’s imagination, free and wild, but rarely accurate.
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| "Change. Change. Change. Change … change. Change. Chaaange. When you say words a lot they don't mean anything. Or maybe they don't mean anything anyway, and we just think they do." -Delirium who was once Delight (Painting by: Helena M. Cintra) |
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