What is a mate? A cell mate? A choice of commitment for the long haul?
There is no long haul.
A mate is a choice for the moment.
What do you know about this collective her?
She won’t decide anything for herself. The rib dangling. Slow to take action. Weighing everything tirelessly. Until she’s entangled in flesh. Then the moment is chosen.
She loves the man. She’s confused by the man. The man-father messes with her head, but he loves her intensely.
The man gives her too much power. He clutches the thought of the one with too much chatter.
Fearful of losing a oneness. One of two needs room to breathe. The seed is planted.
There is no watching it bloom. It will sneak into life, like an idea impregnated into both mates. Agreement and life, or disagreement and death.
Someone else will drive her to insanity. That’s a thing.
And the father will continue farther. Free from the mother while taking care of the mother.
Separating from the dying father, the father fearful of death. Is he covetous of lasting life? Does he crave life? Does he crave reason?
Give up? Take off the costume and slip into the seams of the dance?
Go further. So much evidence of life in the surroundings.
The curbside deliveries keep coming. The deaths and births come in waves. When one thing extinguishes, another bursts onto the scene. The imaginations fuel it all. Truth coming over and over again.
Imagination springing forth with more imagination. Delusion grandeur.
Feeling the way through the confusion of the phony, silly world.
Everything is the watcher’s.
It’s all his.