~oOo~

He's discovered me again beneath the leaves, the great tall things nearing a garden toward the sands of sea.

I, examining my work in the shade, did not expect nor call on him, young Henry. My time would be better spent without his accompaniment.

I don't know what has been shared between us. What can I hope to achieve, toying with him? In the night tracing legs and the skin above. His feelings can't be sincere, and there are no feelings on my part, save for a slight affection.

He is just a boy.

Always I am reminded of our first meeting, his words to me and how foolish they were. Words meant to shock. Leaning over that chair, his clothes loose over him. Like a child in his father's hand-me-downs.

Under this leafy darkness his blue eyes haunt me for in them I see Charles' eyes, his face. I hear his laughter.

The moments I survey in my hands are ones experienced, ones captured in a spread wing, the layout of grapes. I see Charles' hands moving the objects under mine. As I touch the picture, I think of it as the smoothness of his skin, but I'm alone. Alone with his children. This the other world.

I am thankful for the means of capturing the soul, beyond words am I thankful, as before all that could hold a moment was the eye and there afterward the easily ravaged banks of the mind. With death an image, a memory, could not in any form be known by another - when there is such a need for it! Surely what I have felt, just myself, in my limited wanderings, is far too much for one soul to take. That is how I feel it. Those who have truly lived, soared, what must they feel? It, whatever it is, that great hulking spirit that exceeds the outdoors, cannot leave in any way other than through another, for all experiences are trapped within. Or so they were before.

Now I am able to make others see, if even only a glimpse of something once felt.

In these thoughts I find trapped between mesh-like threads one so willing to give himself to me wholly. One who I can ask to see at any given time; who is unashamed, completely giving of himself. Whereas his father will not allow such folly.

I undress the one thinking of the other and how much I wish the same leisure could be attained. To be allowed while he is waking to touch the skin belonging rightfully to me, his lover.

I have used the boy.

I see that now.

~oOo~