— Eating on the Floor, No. 0 —
∞ If I could throw open the back door of this kitchen and yell down to you standing in the alley by the grizzled lilac, beside the garden fence. If I could toss the spare key out over the railing, and if I could hear it clatter four floors below onto the pavement next to your boots — wouldn’t that be everything?
And if in the next moment I could hear the iron gate clang shut and then the sound of those same heavy boots thudding up the stairwell at a run. If in the moment after that I could see your shoulder and a bit of your coat sleeve and your hand on the green lacquered rail, moving upward all the time, in ascending circles toward the sound of my laughing voice — that would be more than everything, I think.
And if there is a feeling that is more than the feeling of more than everything, then that is the moment when you fly through the open doorway, smiling.
–EB
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E. BOOCKMEIER 