February 11, 2009

Page 166

She stepped out of her dress and uncoiled her hair and kissed me.  She was so free with her body.  Her body, her freedom.  I was afraid of how she made me feel.  You say we are not one, you say truly there are two of us.  Yes, there are two of us, but we were one.  As for myself, I am splintered by great waves.  I am coloured glass from a church window long since shattered.  I find pieces of myself everywhere, and I cut myself handling them.  The reds and greens of her body are the colours of my love for her, the coloured parts of me, not the thick heavy glass of the rest.  

I am a glass man, but there is no light in me that can shine across the sea.  I shall lead no one home, save no lives, not even my own.

Lighthousekeeping, Jeanette Winterson

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