He speaks of equity. He speaks in French. He means equality. He means we are equal in our vulnerability and in our ambivalence. He means our hearts belong to no one, but we love many. He means we are both broken. Suffer less. Shuffle the cards. We have mastered our poker faces, our sleight of hand, our smoke and mirrors. We juggle and slide between disguise and recognition. We both look back and smile as if those photos were of someone else. We smile and hold hands while we bury our hearts six feet under, secretly relieved. We breath deep, our lungs expand, filling in the gap in our chests. We walk forward, separately, but remain in the corner of each other's eye.
*when i write, i often jump off from something in real life... an event, a phrase.. a feeling. however, i always let the creation take off and go its own way, easily and often veering from the "truth". the art has a life of its own, its own truth. it is not history or a mere record or reflection, it is its own. i may refer to someone or a situation in my life, but i let it go where it wishes.
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