Gone Girls

Love is the world's infinite metability lies hatred mured even are all knit up in it it is the inevitable blossoming of its 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 very first time I saw her it w
as the back of the head is 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 e
asily.
I'd know her head anywhere .
And what inside it .I think of that too: her mind .Her brain thoughts shuttling though these coils like fast frantic centipedes like a child. I picture opening 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 to the person who could answer .I suppose these questions storm 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 six a.m
This was no avian fluttering of the lashes no gentle blink to word consciousness.