November 2016
"Do you know," began the elf, his significant ears evident. "What it is like to be loved?"
"Oh yes, I do indeed," cried the reindeer. "I have been well-loved... an age ago."
"Oh, but you haven't," exclaimed the elf leaning in closer, blue eyes alight. "Not unless you've been loved by the North-South. Anyone loved by the North-South is destroyed forever."
"The North-South..." pondered the reindeer. "What is that like?"
"I have been loved," said the little elf. "I am. I will be. Unto eternity."
"It is like mist," he said. "It gets into your eyes, your nose, your pores, your lungs and leaves you blind, panicked, not knowing where you are going and when the fall shall come."
"And it is like cloud. Light, wispy, delightful and makes you believe you are soaring high, where no sorrow of the world can touch you."
"It completes and undoes. The maddening passion, reckless desire, all stops blown out, your old wounds reopened and nursed back to nothingness. New wounds, more painful than the dull ache of the old scars, weight in my heart while my body and mind soar with abandon."
"She will seduce, amuse, rouse unknown intensities of emotion, she will toss you, flip you, discard you without mercy. She will shower you with the love of a thousand good women - of mothers and lovers and wives and daughters. And she will imbibe you somehow - you will merge into her and you will surge with her and you will fall with her. She will scream, cry, accuse you of betrayal, of deserting her, of not having loved enough, of not having loved at all. She will breeze into your world and take it over as you watch, rapt, unblinking, mesmerised by this creature with the laughter of a lifetime, the love of eternity, the curse of extremity."
"Did you fall under her spell?" asked the reindeer in wonder.
"Fall?" laughed the elf as he scratched the mole behind his ear. "I was consumed. I ceased to exist. I gave myself to her riptide, tossed about willingly, almost joyously, as a broken catamaran."
"But?" asked the reindeer, suddenly fearful.
"When North-South loves..." began the elf slowly. "There always comes a time when the storm passes. And in a snap of the fingers, she will leave. Without looking back. Perhaps, even without saying goodbye."
"Are you not afraid?" cried the reindeer, panic stricken now for his friend, the blue-eyed elf with the mole behind his ear and the roots turned silver.
"But I do not exist anymore!" said the elf, smiling softly as the memory of a kiss overtook him.
And he hummed and he skipped and he surfed the cloud, awaiting, almost fearlessly, the next fall.
"Do you know," began the elf, his significant ears evident. "What it is like to be loved?"
"Oh yes, I do indeed," cried the reindeer. "I have been well-loved... an age ago."
"Oh, but you haven't," exclaimed the elf leaning in closer, blue eyes alight. "Not unless you've been loved by the North-South. Anyone loved by the North-South is destroyed forever."
"The North-South..." pondered the reindeer. "What is that like?"
"I have been loved," said the little elf. "I am. I will be. Unto eternity."
"It is like mist," he said. "It gets into your eyes, your nose, your pores, your lungs and leaves you blind, panicked, not knowing where you are going and when the fall shall come."
"And it is like cloud. Light, wispy, delightful and makes you believe you are soaring high, where no sorrow of the world can touch you."
"It completes and undoes. The maddening passion, reckless desire, all stops blown out, your old wounds reopened and nursed back to nothingness. New wounds, more painful than the dull ache of the old scars, weight in my heart while my body and mind soar with abandon."
"She will seduce, amuse, rouse unknown intensities of emotion, she will toss you, flip you, discard you without mercy. She will shower you with the love of a thousand good women - of mothers and lovers and wives and daughters. And she will imbibe you somehow - you will merge into her and you will surge with her and you will fall with her. She will scream, cry, accuse you of betrayal, of deserting her, of not having loved enough, of not having loved at all. She will breeze into your world and take it over as you watch, rapt, unblinking, mesmerised by this creature with the laughter of a lifetime, the love of eternity, the curse of extremity."
"Did you fall under her spell?" asked the reindeer in wonder.
"Fall?" laughed the elf as he scratched the mole behind his ear. "I was consumed. I ceased to exist. I gave myself to her riptide, tossed about willingly, almost joyously, as a broken catamaran."
"But?" asked the reindeer, suddenly fearful.
"When North-South loves..." began the elf slowly. "There always comes a time when the storm passes. And in a snap of the fingers, she will leave. Without looking back. Perhaps, even without saying goodbye."
"Are you not afraid?" cried the reindeer, panic stricken now for his friend, the blue-eyed elf with the mole behind his ear and the roots turned silver.
"But I do not exist anymore!" said the elf, smiling softly as the memory of a kiss overtook him.
And he hummed and he skipped and he surfed the cloud, awaiting, almost fearlessly, the next fall.
