Cole FitzGibbons ’21
How Far Gone? He The man gazes into himself, and finds his dearest again. She had been hidden for quite some time but is now illuminated. She is an image of another. She bears another’s visage, another’s shape, another’s voice (those of the girl from the dance; but the dance is far gone, and the man knows this). This girl was there for but a second with the man: she left as abruptly as she barged into his life, leaving only her appearance for his memory. The image was a sanctum. For a while he would retreat to her and discover idyll in her presence. But he grew dissatisfied and unappreciative. He ventured out, disdaining this precious jewel, in search of another. Of course, he returned with an outward solitude more profound than before, a craving for inward sympathy renewed. So now she is once more conjured up within him, for him. He smiles at her, tentatively, reassured by her apparent forgiveness. He waits for a return of the gesture, but in vain. Her face, so charming, so clear, is utterly lifeless. And her body, a marvelous work, has no vigor. The man sees only his empty reflection in his jewel, but he knows she is animated, and he knows she cares for him. She must—how else could he be so comforted by her emergence? He says to himself: “Her grace is unparalleled, her beauty, incomparable. My dearest will forgive me and guide me openly and without hesitation.” The man has built himself an idol, one he can neither fully comprehend nor fully restrain. “Jewel, craft me an esteem for you so great that I may correct my debt!” The jewel’s model, the dancer, was a naiad; lithe and light, she waltzed with the easiest, most enrapturing step. She flowed as a zephyr. She spoke as the sea. And for that moment the girl was his partner, she ignited the man. His solitude had never been as impregnable and absolute as when he was separated from the girl. He burned down, slowly, excruciatingly, until only
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