Sleepless Nights 65 - The Ground Beneath Her Feet.

It's a good book. But I'm not going to talk about that.

I always thought she had nice feet, as far as admiration goes that is. The were white, and you can see the network of veins coursing through them. Her toes were weird though, it made me think that she liked to curl them so much to the point that they retained that shape. But of course, I nitpick.

She always had this... Grace when she walked. No, not like fucking royalty or anything like that. More like she was light footed and it's like she skipped every time she walked. She hated heels, said that she would always trip over and fall, but yeah, I don't deny that back then, every time she did wear them, she looked real classy.

The ground beneath her feet was sacred. I remembered telling her that if it was the old days, she would've had fucking wildflower sprouting from under her feet when she walked.

Now? Now I don't know anymore. Did she change her way of walking? That would suck. Did her toes regain some sort of normality in their shape? Were her feet as pale as they were? Did she take a liking to heels nowadays? Hell, I don't know.

I was fixated, that was for sure. The ground beneath her feet was sacred then, but now when I'm out of it, that semblance is lost. I thought of all the other men who thought that it was sacred, and like me, we pined for her. She made everything better, you know, all the petty stuff that seemed to always piss me off. She'll give some reason which does not make sense but then maybe that was what I need. Just something to divert my attention. Then again, maybe it was all that fucking endorphins in my brain. Back then, everything was a blessing. She was a blessing. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe she was just a means I used to gain some sort of knowledge. Maybe I mistreated her that way. Maybe all she wanted was for me to cool the fuck down and relax. Take it easy. Maybe I shouldn't have immersed myself into the unknown and be content. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But I guess I couldn't do that. I need to know. Was it her fault for not understanding that? Fuck no, grow up you cunt, it's people we're talking about here. Not some inner logic. She didn't understand. Was it my fault then? I honestly do not see how. I loved her, yes, that much is true but can I let go of my love for knowledge for another person? I cannot change who I am.

It's really fucking funny how I can talk about her feet when I hardly remember her face anymore. Maybe it's another way she shines. I might forget how she looks, how her skin feels like, how her eyes look like, how her smile is but I don't think I could ever, ever forget how she was inside. Maybe that too is just another illusion. Maybe I didn't know who she really was at all.

Maybe.

Eargasm of the day: The great Rushdie wrote the lyrics. The great U2 performed it.