Broken

This narrative is broken. Behind a carefully constructed facade of seemingly ordered words, only chaos reigns. Just as a life, a seemingly unified unit of animate existence, is in fact a constant struggle between constituent pieces, a roiling conflict that seems to have no singularity in itself, so also this narrative is filled with internal conflict, failed expectations, colliding inconsistencies.

I want to tell a story about a man and a woman, but I cannot. I want to relate with clarity and truth the ways in which they lived their lives, caught within life's cyclical routines, never escaping, never changing, never accepting the touch of another, never looking outward to see the face of the Other. I want to talk about a certain day, a day in which the previously divergent paths of their lives became connected, a day in which the endless cycle seemed to

stop.

Stop writing. Stop this nonsense. Stop this misguided attempt to tell events as they are. The narrative will not support any attempt to tell the truth. Symbols on a page cannot tell the truth. Words refer to words refer to words refer to words refer to words refer to words refer to

Words exchanged on a sunny day. Secret smiles, shaded symbols. A kindness shared by two blossoms, two rose blossoms rose together. A second meeting, not by chance. Meals shared, meaning shared. Time passes and the narrative continues. Two cycles merge. A bicycle trip, a world common to both, days, weeks, months. Life and love abound.

A bound manuscript, bound with bonds, bound with chains, bounded by cut corners and missing pages. A shadow crosses the sun, the page, the world, the life. Meanings diverge, multiply, deconstruct, crumble. A misunderstanding, a fight. Battles, losing focus, out of focus, out of sight, binocular breaking, one circle becomes two, one cycle becomes two, a unicycle trip. Time apart, time parts, parting time.

And so the narrative remains unfinished, unfinishing, unfinalized, unfinalizable. The circle closes but the ends miss each other. He misses her and she misses him. Cycling again, but the narrative remains unfinished. The story goes on and on, up and up, story upon storey, Tower of Babel, endless babble, babbling brook, broke, break,

broken.