land of the lost

One of the random nominal joys in my life is to act out movie scenes while listening to my ipod. The conditions of my morning commute make it an ideal time to "reenact" the last scene of Closer. Since I walk to school against the flow of traffic, I set the volume just right to Damien Rice's "The Blower's Daughter" and pretend I'm Alice/Jane.

I once dreamt of a place of lost love. It was a hazy place with muted colors and blurred lines. The figures were ghostly and translucent. The only sounds were whispers and faint whimsical singing that was constant. These were the spirits of a lost love. There were many variations of them -- death of a loved one, spurned love, unrequited love, misunderstood love, forbidden love... Every and any relationship that had once experienced love and was now no more came to this place, a limbo of time, space and all other dimensions.

I dreamt that I met the lost love between my parents. They were young. They had yet to develop the fine lines around the contours of their faces that I now see. They'd yet developed the jade of love that comes from divorce. They were young and they were together with the glint of hope for one another in their eyes. I met them strolling hand in hand next to a subdued glimmering stream of water. I asked them many questions. Where were they now? What happened? How do you experience love one day and you cease to experience it the next? Where did their love go? They slowly turned to look at each other and then slowly looked back at me. Their mouths were moving, but only fluttering words and indiscernible sounds reached my ears.

Then I understood. No amount of questioning, probing or dissection would ever provide a satisfactory answer. Unanswered questions always linger in the presence of lost love.