Laura Palmer has doe eyes, and when she meets the big bad wolf, her pupils dilate, her eyelids flutter and they fill with tears. Is that what love is? She surrounds herself with coloured light, distorting the true face of God, because we cannot look into the eyes of Our Father without losing hold of what he really is.
I don’t remember what happened yesterday, and I couldn’t make sense of it if I did, but I do know how I felt. Feelings are even more elusive than events, but they are my own, and they are contained. Where will I spend my last hours? Will you remember me in the morning?
She asked how she even got into bed last night, and I didn’t know how to answer. I’m not ashamed of what happened, but I’d rather not talk about it. I don’t remember you being so soft and vulnerable, even though you were so bold last night. We can be one, but you can never be me.
Where was I? Oh right, there was a dream, and you were there, and you were there, and you were there. It was quiet, and yet everyone was speaking very strangely. All through our life we are walking through the valley of death, and its shadow is continually upon us. Of all my commentaries there is but one that agrees with me, but that makes no difference.
The man cracks a smile and leers. He revolts me, but I fear the day when he no longer looks at me as though I am all his, and nothing is coming between us, not even clothes.
Kiss me one last time, I need your breath inside of me.