I couldn’t stand to be around her. Her presence brought a great fog to my mind.
I constructed bridges over our
realities. I was aware of this, aware of
my own short comings of rational thought.
My compass was drawn to her magnetism, but I always ended up lost. In caves I still could not escape her. I imagined her flesh wax-like, as these damp
stalagmites that impale my soul when I let it wander. I imagined myself Loki bound by the sinews of
some treacherous creature, and the steady dripping of the underground was
poison from her fangs. I imagine her
simultaneously in the roll of the goddess catching those same torturous drops
in a bowl so that I do not suffer.
Sometimes I thought about her subtle gestures, about her perfect
displays of vulnerability, thinking, in the end, that even if it was all an act
that I loved, I would still admire her for her talent as an actress.