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07/23/09 - (1)
Her
No person, life-force, essence resided inside Her. Quite simply put, What you saw, met, talked to was all Her was.
Nothing else — no scope, let alone show, of emotions — Distinguished Her from a stone or tree stump. Though not electronic, Her seemed mechanical, pneumatic.
Some suitors half-joked that Her had hydraulic fluid Rushing through her cold arteries, veins, heart; Others suspected Her was an authentic android.
Sadly, for those who tried to get close to Her, On some deeper, more intimate level, The result was always the same: frustration, disillusion, hurt,
Since all Her wanted, needed, was companionship, not love, And, then, just for brief durations, detachedly — A dinner out, a copulation in the shadows, a nightcap,
Before Her would slip back into her routine of just being, Invisible, again, to all but herself. Her cherished her insularity.
When Her's snippet of an obituary appeared, In the sixty-eighth year of Her's affectless existence, None whom Her had ever processed took notice. Indeed, in accordance with Her's last will and testament, Her was cremated, all her beloved possessions incinerated, Their mingled ashes set adrift, on an insensate wind.
07/23/09 - (1)
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