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Shoreline of yesterday

Renata looked out across the icy shimmer of the sea, the broken waves flaying themselves into extinction. Their chaotic dance drew right up to the shoreline, a dirty brown beach covered in shingle and pebbles. The chalk of the cliff edge descended below her, and she looked down, imagining the sweet oblivion of her body as it spread itself broken over the rocks below, a pillow emptied of air. The temporary rush, an incandescence of brief desire as she fell, an exhilaration as death's cunning claws groped its way inside her, the seizure of personal annihilation.

Renata considered, turning away from the edge. The vertiginous elixir was enough to  re-energise her, a gentle warmth travelling back towards her inner temple, awaiting further rites from Mitchell. He was lying back in amongst the long grass, seemingly intent on inferring great cosmological truths from the white cumulonimbus clouds whose transience offered a foil for his emotional detachment. She didn't need his emotiona…
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Eros meets narcissism

I read your words.

I read your words. I see you have an image, too. I read your words once more.

The catechism that prompts my heart to indeed skip a beat. How many times have I read that expression, yet as a truism it is truer than true, no matter how many times it gets sullied by repetition.

All I have are your words, pouncing out of the screen. The text of you. Just words.

And yet-

So much more. So much more than I get in my day to day perambulations, staggering with docility to and from and around and within and outside work, a partially animated corpse. A simulacra of humanity, delivering robotic responses - always perfectly polite - with people I ultimately don't really know. People who hold little interest to me. I don't dislike them; nothing so intentional. They just are.

They can't do what you can do, I know that. You, who I don't know, but somehow do. For you gave me a series of freely given micro-transactions into your soul. Everything is apparently economic…