novembre

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a white slice of dome

right now i'm reading lucky girls, a collection of short stories by nell freudenberger.

"It was six o'clock, and I recognized the whiskey-colored light on the white sheets: Arun pinning my wrists down with his hands, holding me tight beneath him so I couldn't move. It was not like with other people; he took it seriously, as if these were necessary things we were doing. Those evenings -- Arun's car in front of the house, everyone knowing we were there -- the whole world was in our room: tiny inscrutable figures moving in a pattern across our sheets.

And then the light was gone, and the windows were long and green, the walls steep. I sat up, and, in that moment, when my feet touched the cool cement, I had such an immediate sense of what had been blotted out: a white slice of dome, like an eye behind a half-closed lid -- the unexpected view of something everyone in the world has seen a thousand times."

2:23 am - 09.04.05

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