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Ice comes into your soul, and you fall in love with her while you're on the verge of a breakthrough. When the house falls down a few months later, you're nothing like the matador you thought you were, you're nowhere near the breakthrough, and nothing is left but the pain; you weep and your tears make funky shapes on the carpet. You insist on the love but time knows you better than you know yourself. Absent-mindedly you remove the photos to make space for art. Once in a while you dream of her and it's all back for the duration of the reel. Sometimes you think of her in the middle of the day for no particular reason, and you wish that all the stuff they say about universal minds were true. So heartbroken and longing madly, you drive aimlessly at a small morning hour. The dark is soothing. The blues is real and timeless. The steering wheel and the windshield occupy the part of your mind which would otherwise be busy thinking up more reasons to manufacture hot drops of salty water to gloss over the pain.

The best slice of education one can acquire from loving the ice then falling through it is the precious knowledge that everything is better understood from very far away, when it's nothing but a memory. The day you sat on the toilet and watched her to your left as she put on her make-up is the perfect example. Another good one is he day you sat at the desk and traced the lazy curtains that blew over her sleeping body in the bed so near... and the time you had to say goodbye for the first time, the time you saw the baby-name book on her shelves, the time you stuck half your body out the window and screamed at the busy grid half a mile below, the time she thanked you for every moment of glory you made her feel, and all the times you smoked on the swing. And oh can you feel the ice touching the shallowest surface of your chest now?

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