June 2011
3 posts
“Early in the novel that Tereza clutched under her arm when she went to visit...”
– Milan Kundera, from The Unbearable Lightness of Being
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heartbeat.
Lying in the shadows of the late night, he realizes their hearts beat in time. For a few ticks, he feels her heart in chorus with his, sending millions of tiny cells moving through their blood vessels. A fluid rush, and sudden stillness. Their smallest pieces, small soldiers, marching together to the same drumbeat.
Then the chorus peels apart—by fractions, increments, silence. Each cycle...
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