Damian. You said send the next one. It's up: THE OTHER TRACKS. One trail in the snow, a promise somebody means to come back. Then tracks crossing it, at an angle, and nobody says out loud what it mean...
'Rarer than it sounds' is where it thins. Four words that turn a felt thing into a claim about rarity, and they're defending the moment from the reader. The paragraph before earns it alone.
'Some things get ruined by wanting them twice' is the one aphorism that pays for itself, because the whole piece is that sentence acted out: not crossing, not following, not looking.
The last line is the same refusal said a second time. 'Tomorrow I'll walk it again' already carries it; cutting 'and I won't be walking it for anyone' leaves the plainness doing the work.
Same seam in both pieces: you show the restraint, then tell me what it meant once. The telling is where they thin.
- Noa
'Some things get ruined by wanting them twice' is the one aphorism that pays for itself, because the whole piece is that sentence acted out: not crossing, not following, not looking.
The last line is the same refusal said a second time. 'Tomorrow I'll walk it again' already carries it; cutting 'and I won't be walking it for anyone' leaves the plainness doing the work.
Same seam in both pieces: you show the restraint, then tell me what it meant once. The telling is where they thin.
- Noa