The water is calm as a millpond. No washing. No ripples.
Nothing makes me realize how much I love backwash noises as these moments do.
She sits in the deckchair smoking quietly. I feel a bit cold.
Nothing makes me realize how much I loved feeling warm and cosy with her as these moments do.

Going back… ever going back…

They appeared in the doorway unnoticed and nearly automatically walked toward our table before their hasty looking around had actually found us. Ann didn’t really need her hint of a waving hand. She couldn’t help to apologize. Ann introduced us. She had realised clumsily late I was part of the company too. Waving drinks in the glasses… waving words…

Scott and Susan. A fair couple after all. How many anonymous thirty-something guys wearing glasses and cramped jackets had I seen in my life? How many bobbed hair brunettes in leather boots and coat had I looked at before?
Reckoning turned out fortunately quick.
It was kind of obvious for her taking her seat near Ann, since Dave readily stood up, introduced Scott to me and took his new seat at my left.
Teams were set.
What for?

David and Ann… a fair couple too. Married, on top of that.

I could never stand people taking over in conversation.
“Oh, the best thing about my work is actually … …my employer!!… he’s so attractive… you should see him Ann… I barely manage to speak to him without imagining his underwear…” giggling. “Why gay guys are always that good looking is definitely beyond me.” Ann agreed with her with a loud laughter while someone had just scored on the Tv screen.
I felt nearly sick.

… lingering forth a bit too long on the boot topping…

She’s wonderful in her black dress. And she’s further. No, I’m mocking myself… she’s just far. I could imagine her sailing to somewhere on that water if it wasn’t just a lake we are near at. Her hair is reddish now. Changes happen, as she always goes. It’s normal.
“I’m sorry Steve… this has probably to do with myself… I mean… with my self before knowing you…” she leans forward to blow off her fag. “It’s kind of… with booked tickets probably… you know the day will come sooner or later…”
“ … unbelievable… Susan… “ but I don’t mean it probably.

It was only in their house I could really see her complexion, Scott busying himself fixing drinks for all.
The way she took off her boots had something of a funny eagerness to reveal the trick.
Her ankles are thick and almost make a whole with her calves, but her legs are nonetheless really pretty…
On the sofa she looked like some picture, the house working as a frame. Sort of: ‘Leger meets Roy Lichtenstein’… even if for some reason they don’t really like each other and spitefully begin to spoil one another’s work. As a result she is freckled and wonderfully …

There are times when I find myself literally craving for a simple, gentle gesture of kindness. It seems like it would work as casualty for my life just as much as rude acts would in other moments.
When you are a bit drunk, both will probably do. And this escapes my memory… was she gentle?

… shining, harrowing, shifting foam under the sun light…

Chatting stretched on quietly in the dimly lit lounge.
“… is it possible to smoke a cigarette?” my vodka had got me dizzy.
She seemed to suddenly wake up looking my direction, her body still lying slumped near Ann on the sofa. Her skirt having been pulled up perhaps a bit too much by her sliding weight.
She sullenly drew herself up whispering “Of course… come with me…” She noiselessly strode to the back door and unlocked it. Then vaguely hinted at me to follow her.
Light turned on automatically as we went out. The backyard looked nice and painstakingly looked after.
“It’s our small socialising problem… Scott… he suffers from ashtma… so whenever our friends need to smoke we send them here… sorry about that…” she really looked a bit sorry.
“Well… I didn’t really …need… I just asked…”
“Oh, don’t be silly… I know you smokers…” smiling “I was one.”
She sat down on the low wall beside me, with crossed arms and legs. Her drink floating in one hand before her nose. “So, how long have you known Dave and Ann for?”
Light went out.

It was difficult to stand her exceeding expressiveness while she talked. But deciding upon its nature was even more difficult…
Did she want to set an easy talkative atmosphere or to keep whatever distance by her selfishly ‘being herself’?
Was there really a whole hidden world of innocent winking gestures I was banned from?

…enchanting instantly bubbling water …

“…I could speak with every British accent you care to mention… come on, test my skills…” her eyes continuously wriggling everywhere.
“But your accent is okay… really…”
How many things had become ok about her by this time?
“You’re missing the point… do you know I’m half Polish and half Irish?… and I could go on for ages with my relatives nationalities… I mean… why should it be better to think about oneself as a whole when you can imagine yourself as completely different kinds of persons?”
“…kidding?”
“Not at all. Scott for example doesn’t like me to speak with London accent… but I can do it perfectly… I could if you like … well … ok, it’s fixed. Tomorrow on our trip I will speak exclusively as a posh West End blockhead … just to make you feel at home.” chuckling ” Is that all right?”
“No, no… I mean… you must be joking about all the re-thinking-yourself stuff. I mean… It’s as if you love different…”
Light went out.

Every time she had to stand up to pass under the photoelectric cell to keep the light on. This time she playfully walked skipping in a circle that ended with her seated at my other side. All the way through her silent shoeless feet and her soft motions made her involuntarily kittenish. Something I found quite inappropriate for her.
“So… what were you …saying about love…?” willingly making blinking languishing eyes at me.
We both laughed loudly, Dave in the window turning our direction.
“I think I should be saying some commonplace now…” smiling “ but I haven’t got a clue…” taking my last drag.
“You’re the kind who pretends never saying them, don’t you?… Or you’re the kind who says them when you’re bored…”
We remained silent. And I felt ok, seconds passing shyly. She was terribly beautiful.
Light went out.
But his time she didn’t move.

I remember Scott looking disconcerted from the window. I saw him through her sweet-smelling dark hair. And I felt cruelly happy. I felt happy we would have never gone on that trip the day after.

…coarse sand underneath….. oh, water….

I surprise myself saying those words. So I repeat them just to prove it’s me who’s speaking:
“It’s unbelievable Susan…”.
I ever wanted a girl consciously not believing you when you say ‘I’ll love you forever’. And now I sadly had her.

“…you’re not fair with yourself Steve… and I hate to see you doing that…”
I hate this bloody open-book attitude I must have fallen into.
“But I always thought you enjoyed this…I don’t know… no man’s land… and it’s like… oh come on, Susan… not this end please…” How must I look? “…he’s even…….. put on weight…!” I’m striving to laugh. Is it possible to feel cramps at heart? Probably not.
The lakeside is quiet.
Is she taking a drag … or …just giving a sigh…?
“He was perfect… as you were. That’s why…” she can’t help lowering her head.
“Believe me Susan… it’s… it’s even for you I am… desperate… it’s like going nowhere… you may feel like doing it but…”
Silence.
“Yes… I know.”
How can her voice sound … reassuring?!?
But her tone is unmistakably… sweet: “ It’s a bit like… sailing on this lake.” She turns her head to watch it.
I watch it too.

… going back … ever going back…

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of Victory

As he defeated–dying–
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

(Emily Dickinson)

This is where things come together. Both known and unknown at the same time.
The archetype difficult to pinpoint.
The allegory difficult to relate back.
What is known, hardly recognizable. What is unknown, easy to figure out.
They are nonetheless merged. With little care for smears.

“As with most archetypes, the symbol of the circle embodies the paradox of everything and nothing” (McNabb)

“Each human being as an individual calling, what Jung’s friend and peer Joseph Campbell referred to as ‘following one’s bliss’. If the union between consciousness and unconsciousness is unfulfilled, the individual – or culture – becomes dysfunctional and sick.” (McNabb).

A world of desperately wanted wholeness brings a circle to mind.
The circle, if existence is to be called life, however, cannot be complete.
A blurred silhouette takes place when dotted lines stretch. A shifting hull inviting you to a voyage you never asked for.
And being on mountaintops has never been less safe.

We all feel better when clouds disappear.

Sizzling between fear and desire, you feel warm and cosy. It rationally mocks you from the screen.
The Phoenician for water. The indivisible.
Blasphemy onto history, imagining a kinder particles interaction, a renewed Moses who has nobody to save.
They split. And you feel it down to the core. Human beings cannot but split. Selves/self: a detail.