Her beauty penetrates, it arrives like a wound, like a spike in sensation. Just seeing her you curse, knowing somehow her existence demands your breath, owns that reflex to speak. There is an ache that arrises-- blooms in spring, fire from the earth. She radiates past the boundaries of photograph, beyond the stilled instance of your wishes and your witness. Seeing her resonates with-in you, that sense of a soul as matter overloaded with extra energy jumps states, that hunger in the whole empty world that seethes outside the bounds of your existence. She is proof that there are distances that are impassable, like the sight of stars so far away that they have long since disappeared, like notions of possibility abutted by the brutal honesty of the living world. Her beauty is evidence of some better, lovelier place, someplace so far away that you must learn distinguish the difference between recognition and knowledge. The curse forced from your lips as if from a blow, as if your body must move, acknowledging the pain of a wish to pray.
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