Tell me how, in concrete terms, the human spirit can soar and in the very next half-second fall, flat, like lead. Tell me that, and I�ll devote my life to you, but you must be specific and use no metaphor or lyrical language, but the exactness of algebra (which, even that language possesses imaginary numbers).
Nico makes me soar. And she makes my stomach hurt. And she adores me. And I curl into myself, afraid. But I reach out to her. My movements feel like a dancer�s. She is a wondrous partner. We court each other much more gently than how we�ve courted death, but I do not want her less, and I have wanted death everyday for longer than I could concede here. We have the most amazing conversations. I can�t even capture them. I can�t explain unreality in reality�s terms. It�d be similar to describing the texture of water�clumsy and inaccurate.
And then, I fall.
My mother had a stroke today. Mild, they think. Mild, they�re not certain. She�s fifty-two years old.
Can you give me a more concrete language? Because I�m out of words.