The Mourning in White
Of Dew, Metamorphosis and Love
Serialized fiction from The Book of Seven Journeys of Love.
#2
He says, he is afraid, the mourning in white will take longer than any other color.
The foremath of writing is dew.
The aftermath of writing too is dew.
Writing is dew too.
He should have known, all the colors are still in white.
This is not my story. This is the story of things. Still taking over me, imperceptibly.
These are not my things. I am not theirs. The world never has any conclusions.
Nothing in the world ever has any conclusion. You still have insistence. You still believe you have God.
The world only has metamorphosis.
You love the world when love metamorphoses the world. You love your metamorphosed lover.
The world doesn’t love you when you cease to metamorphose in love. Your lover doesn’t love you.
You should have been loved. You should have been amazed. You should have been metamorphosed.
You should not have been left.
You should have been metamorphosed into love.
The world should only have been a metamorphosis of love.
