When I grow up, I am going to buy myself the most charismatic eunuch, this side of the Mississippi. He will know all the good songs, and all the good dance moves, and all the good apple pie recipes. We will travel to Bolivia together, just to buy whatever the hell they sell there. Everyone will say that he wears good shoes. They are both attractive and comfortable. Then, we will fly away to Vatican City, where we will meet the pope, who will immediately adore us. Every day and every night, we will fade into each other.
The hellhound sits beside me. His long, brown and black fur tickles my legs. I have always found this very comforting. We are warmed by the sun, enveloped by strong winds, celebrated by falling leaves. Noises shoot into my ear. I am stunned by them, then entertained. Birds sing, children giggle, women talk, a group of men pray. Persephone has been granted temporary leave. Out of the darkness, and into the light.
This does not feel natural, but it delights me. My eyes are still hungry. They want to devour everything in sight. And the heart, it continues to beat. I have no choice, not as far I can see, but to crawl through every path I can find. One will be my own. I do not know if believing this is foolish, or if it is admirable.