Friday, September 26, 2008

After great pain, a formal feeling comes--

After great pain, a formal feeling comes-
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Toombs--
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round--
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought--
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone--

This is the Hour of Lead--
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons recollect the Snow--
F irst--Chill--then Stupor--then the letting go--

Emily Dickinson

The very first time you hurt me, I was dying with tremendous pain and inexplicable agony. I was hardly move, my words are all stutter and nothing in me seemed to be functioning anymore. The second time you hurt me, I was more or less dying with pain—but after you hurt me more often than you could remember—I can’t feel nothing at all. No pain, nothing.
It was a numbness I felt, deep down inside my heart.
A numbness that can only be understood by a heartless and emotionless homo sapiens.


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