Every once in a while, I wil sit, with
nothing better to do,
lacking in
motivation and
inspiration, sorting through my hard drive. I sift through the
text files like grains of sand.
Notepad is one of my favorite programs. Sometimes I find things like this one. Things that I like, but do not
remember. They are the
mysterious products of
forgotten thoughts and emotions, and they never fail to
fascinate me. Anybody else?
She never showed that it was there, but he
knew it was. He knew how it crept
insidiously along under the carpet of
everyday thought, the most
imperceptible of ridges, a slow and
serpentine thing. It had crept through his mind for many years, was probably still
hiding there now. In his years of knowing
her, he would see it
flicker to the surface but once or twice, and was able to
recognize and accept it each time.
He wondered if she ever noticed if his showed through, if those
lost,
longing memories ever bubbled up close enough to the surface for her to see. He
imagined they did. And
this was why he loved her. She knew him without knowing him. She knew him by
knowing herself, just as he knew her, because he
knew himself.