Gone Girls

gone girl

Love is the world's infinite mutability;  lies hatred mured even , are all knit up in it ; it is the inevitable blossoming of it opposite a magnificent rose smelling faintly of blood
   Part one ; Boy loses girl
         The day of
When I think of my wife ,I always think of her head the shape of  it to begin with the .The very first time. I saw her it was the back of the head
I saw and there was something lovely about it,  the angles of it like a shiny , hard corn kernel or a riverbed fossil . She had what the Victorians would call a finely shaped head . You could imagine the skull quite easily.
I'd know her head anywhere.  And what's inside it.  I think of that too : her mind .Her brain , all those  coils and her thoughts shuttling though those coils like fast , frantic centipedes    like a child. I picture oppening her skull unspooling  her brain and sifting through it trying to catch and pin down her thoughts . What are you thinking Amy ? The questions I've asked most often during our marriage. If not out loud, if not the person who could answer . I suppose these questions Strom cloud over every marriage: What are you thinking? How are you feeling ? Who are you ? What have we done to each other ? What will we do? 
My eyes flipped open at exactly 6 a.m  This was no avian fluttering of the lashes no gentle blink to word consciousness