What is going on in their worlds, inside their heads?
"And again there are no words.
Words exist that can, used by a poet, achieve a dim monochrome of the body’s love, but beyond that they fail clumsily.
My love flowed out to her, hers back to me. Mine stroked and soothed. Hers caressed. The distance—and the difference—between us dwindled and vanished. We could meet, mingle, and blend. Neither one of us existed any more; for a time there was a single being that was both. There was escape from the solitary cell; a brief symbiosis, sharing all the word…"
— John Wyndham, The Chrysalids (via adessive)
Words exist that can, used by a poet, achieve a dim monochrome of the body’s love, but beyond that they fail clumsily.
My love flowed out to her, hers back to me. Mine stroked and soothed. Hers caressed. The distance—and the difference—between us dwindled and vanished. We could meet, mingle, and blend. Neither one of us existed any more; for a time there was a single being that was both. There was escape from the solitary cell; a brief symbiosis, sharing all the word…"
December 8th 11:39am | 5 notes
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