A (sub)urban walk through prose

„I think it is so often that those most in need of change choose to fall in love and then throw up their hands and blame it all on fate. But it is not fate, at least, not if fate is something outside of us; it is a choice made in secret after nights of longing.

A man or woman sunk in dreams that cannot be spoken, about a life they do not possess

comes suddenly to a door in the wall.

They open it.

Beyond the door is that life and a man or woman to whom it’s already natural. It may not be possessions they want, it may very well be the lack of them, but the secret life is suddenly revealed. This is their true home and this is their beloved.

I may be very cynical when I say that very rarely is the beloved more than a shaping spirit for the lover’s dreams. And perhaps such a thing is enough. To be a muse may be enough. The pain is when the dreams change, as they do, as they must. Suddenly the enchanted city fades and you are left again in the windy desert. As for your beloved, she didn’t understand you. The truth is, you never understood yourself.”

Quote: Jeanette Winterson, “Sexing the Cherry”. Photos are mine.

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