She wakes up and sees that her ribs have been pierced through, and left with the markings that tell the story of lost love. She isn't sure this is necessary, she can remember all her own, without having her body remind her that this writes on her, writing on her bones. She won't share the marks with another lover, not now, not for awhile, they're too fresh, and she feels like she is all feather and bone, and the story written on her body is drawing fresh blood.
What is possible to bear, what is a weight she can carry on her crooked shoulders, what gives the wet feathers on her shoulder blades enough strength for flight, is that she never knew, she really never knew, that her name was her name, because all this time she thought she was him, she thought she was the one who was singing, when she is the one who is being sung.
What is impossible to understand is why they keep letting the writing bleed on her body, that she is there to be this, to be used for this. When she lets herself be written, it is like flying without wings, and the pain is just something to carry with her when she is trying to make the moment marked for her with a song, but she can't sing, she doesn't get to sing. Her voice only plays the dull sounds that fall on the ribs, and she's the only one who can hear the echos, because they play through the caves of her body when she misses him.
But this is enough, enough for now. She hears the ocean clearly for the first time, and does start to understand that the reason it was always so near is because it's right here, on the other side of the cave walls, because she is underground.
"When I thought I was you," Eurydice says, "I could understand why I kept turning around to look for you. But now that I am no longer you," she says, "it makes me sad that you have to keep turning and looking, and so long after that day when you turned around and lost me here."
What is possible to bear, what is a weight she can carry on her crooked shoulders, what gives the wet feathers on her shoulder blades enough strength for flight, is that she never knew, she really never knew, that her name was her name, because all this time she thought she was him, she thought she was the one who was singing, when she is the one who is being sung.
What is impossible to understand is why they keep letting the writing bleed on her body, that she is there to be this, to be used for this. When she lets herself be written, it is like flying without wings, and the pain is just something to carry with her when she is trying to make the moment marked for her with a song, but she can't sing, she doesn't get to sing. Her voice only plays the dull sounds that fall on the ribs, and she's the only one who can hear the echos, because they play through the caves of her body when she misses him.
But this is enough, enough for now. She hears the ocean clearly for the first time, and does start to understand that the reason it was always so near is because it's right here, on the other side of the cave walls, because she is underground.
"When I thought I was you," Eurydice says, "I could understand why I kept turning around to look for you. But now that I am no longer you," she says, "it makes me sad that you have to keep turning and looking, and so long after that day when you turned around and lost me here."
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