Sunday, November 28, 2010

An Apology

Dear British stranger, dear Oxford student: You speak, and what is it I see in your face? Not words, certainly. A shadow, fleeting and unfamiliar. Clipped vowels, an "o" seemingly changing to an "a," making me yearn to change my interpretation's dull light. I search your eyes, and there find the way things might be - intelligence, a penetrating gaze. But the world lurches beneath my feet, and I am uncertain, floundering, undone.

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