Who is    Writing    Love



When she looked at him across the room, her heart broke with an audible crack.
Except that, to be perfectly frank, it had already been broken in the summer of 1981 on a camping site in southern Italy; and the halves had been fragmented further in Berlin, '83; and had then been run over once more in the winter of '84, and, surprisingly, once more again shortly afterwards in spring; and the shards of what survived the prolonged pressure of '86-'88 had been systematically maimed all through '89 and '90, so that her heart had no similarity left to the clear, hard object it might have started out with (although I doubt that, too); it resembled more a bag of dry-frozen carbonated sugar crystals that crackle and pop in your mouth, Pop Rock Heart; but (what I really wanted to say is that) now that she saw him, those pieces, or what was left of them, melted into even smaller fragments with a soft, but distinct, shhhhh.

Discount stores

In the last five minutes before the shop closed at 13:00 sharp, he guarded the entrance, turning away patrons at will; king of milk and cheese, ham, butter, eggs and pink grapefruit soda. So, when she came rushing in late as she always did, eyes twitching, the echos of sleep still blurring her moves, he would let her in, let her walk straight past his immovable polite face into the half-empty rows patrolled by curt white-coated clerks, to get her four slices of cheese and some milk, pay, and leave the almost empty shop feeling lucky because she just, so, made it.


Perhaps we're all slightly precogniscient, and falling in love is nothing but the future memory of going to have spent time with another, a memory that scares the wits out of us, causing complications that prevent the future from happening as we remember it. Perhaps love is just how it feels to, in spite of the fear, do what one was going to do, the bravery of the predictable.


She gravitated towards him; even out of sight, she could still feel his pull on her heels. Her position in the world was measured as distance from him, speed towards him, velocity around him; at the end of her time she would fall into him, then be crushed. Abandoning her ungrounded hopes, she felt a sudden elation: gravity had stopped.