Words waft spectre-like among us: they are spoken and embodied; they are revoked and undone piece-by-piece, evaporating into the thin night air. I wonder, maddeningly, whether I had simply dreamed them up.
A promise is precarious. No matter how earnestly it is whispered, no matter how fervently it is pledged with the tenacity of a white-knuckled grip and a creased forehead, it must always have the sharp edge of unspoken conditions. The bitter disappointment of an end begins with mere words–words that mean nothing, words that mean everything.
Alysha McLeod studies English and Women’s Studies at Western. She is a self-professed strident feminist and crazy cat lady (Her current total is two, but her belief is that cat ownership is a slippery slope: once you’ve got more than one, you’re pretty much doomed to have many).