And So Shall I

The ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances.

--Aristotle

The Alfonsina Storni Principle

Painter's Honeymoon---Frederic Leighton

I had been alone a long time with my poems, my pride . . . almost nothing.----Alfonsina Storni



What is it? He didn't know that he'd asked the question, but she heard it just the same. She always heard it, from the beginning of each beginning. It echoed in her head with the gentle timbre of his voice. What is it? She tried desperately not to answer, to ignore it, to pretend he didn't ask. She muffled the sound of it in her head, imagining herself curled in his arms. Willing herself there, eyes closed tight, lips against his chest silently chanting into his skin...as if she could breathe her heart's desire into his. It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing. As she grew to care for him, so did the urgency of the question in her head. What is it? What is it? She didn't want to answer. Not this time. Not when it mattered so much. Even with all of her wishing, she knew that the words would come out of her. The question whipped against her ears like an angry wind as she made her ascent to the rocky precipice from whence her answer would come. He nuzzled her in his sleep, draping his arm around the curve of her hip. What is it? What is it? The heights from which she looked down drew tears from her eyes that slid sideways into her ears. The weight of her fear filled her pockets like stones. What is it that shall make me want to leave you? She gave herself up to the question and gently laid herself into the wind, letting go of her hold on the steep rocks, telling herself he would wake her. Trust in him. Trust. He would softly chide her for her foolishness. They would find themselves tangled together in the morning sun, with nothing changed between them. Halfway down, still half-believing in him, she opened her eyes and realized she'd been alone all along.