Jun
22nd
Fri
22nd
Matthäuspassion
And then I watched her humiliate herself each day, each night, each morning, over each coffee, at each movie, when we slept in the same bed, in the same room, with the faces she made during love, by a man’s cheapest and most contemptible controls. I watched each smile, frown, tear, laugh; the conclusions of incomplete information.
The young woman my lies betrayed was subjected to a growing list of humiliating insults, until she could not help becoming reduced in my eyes. Before I knew it, the woman I was lying to—strangely, and never myself—appeared to be the one of us with unfortunate limitations.
Was it naive? Charitable?
Inevitable?
