Reflections on Rochester II

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You are greater than fiction, my darling
You’re the archetype that gives birth to
every word that’s been spoken about
every character I’ve ever loved on the
page
and in the flesh.

I met you more than one hundred years ago
and we meet again
and again.

My Rochester, my Heathcliff, my Darcy:
I seek you out in your multitudinous forms;
I dare you to find me.
And then I dare you to betray me,
my grand delusion
Only to leave you
again.
And again.

It hurts every time; the thumping, rotating machine of history
like clockwork…
as I attempt to outrun its metallic arm
it threatens to catch me
and I anticipate that heavy thud of it hitting me on the back of the skull.
Running me over.
Again.

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