LOVE [NOIR POETRY 105/365 + Septekphrasis 9/30]
[LOVE]
the word was a toy gun
yet he knew the damage
it could do to his mouth
. . .
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| Osip Braz: Anton Chekhov (1898)
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Why did she love him so much? He always seemed to women different from what he was, and they loved in him not himself, but the man created by their imagination, whom they had been eagerly seeking all their lives; and afterwards, when they noticed their mistake, they loved him all the same. And not one of them had been happy with him. Time passed, he had made their acquaintance, got on with them, parted, but he had never once loved; it was anything you like, but not love.
And only now when his head was grey he had fallen properly, really in love—for the first time in his life.
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