But most of all, I’m afraid because I know that someday you will forget me. And that you will forget this, all the small moments and all the rest of the grand ones, every first of every place and every thing, and every meaningful conversation and the laughter only they can bring, all these car rides, all these stop signs, every touch, and every little thing that almost became too much. I know that someday, we will forget that we exist as we are to each other and certain songs won’t remind me of the times we spent venturing through every street, trembling through every unlit cul-de-sac at midnight and your scent will be unrecognizable to me. And you won’t recall a thing and neither will I. It’s terrifying. I cannot reminisce our memories or look at you in the present without feeling a certain trepidation for a future in which this fear does not exist at all. I dread the day this happiness will dissipate and we will have to feel it with other people, new people, when the only person I want to share it with at this moment is you. You will be nothing but a scar I don’t remember getting when I was a child. Time will burn your fingerprints right off of mine and I will be left with ashes I’ll mistake for as filth. There will be no nostalgia, no loneliness, no guilt. And I am afraid. I am afraid.
Lucifer (Morning star), 2008
Anodized aluminum, silicon rubber cord,
wax work figure, feathers, concrete
this is the single most painfully beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.