2001-08-07 - 12:52 a.m.
On her back blinking at the cathedral-style ceiling
Kate grimaced at her new state of awakeness.
She wished she could just forget with some shut-eye
It was no use, it was written on her body.
Light always gave her a sense of guilt
Even when she had done nothing wrong.
(Guilt however was not an indication of regret
She rarely let herself falter that far)
She felt as if visibility betrayed her
Soberness an unkind reality.
I know this because Kate told me this.
It was the moments just before dawn
When the air was dense with icy vapour
And bluish light crept in through the edges that curtains didn't reach.
Kate called these melting moments;
It was then she felt a sick sense of knowing
She often pleaded for ignorance
But has learnt to be content with oscillating awareness/denial.
These were highly polarised states
You couldn't be somewhere in between, for Kate that is.
By day she was Ice Queen
When the clarity of her consciousness was strongest.
I've observed that her coldness is merely a defense mechanism for the cowardly helplessness
But Kate has rejected that.
Night was a great masquerade soiree
Kate was a gifted player - damsel, siren, sadist, masochist.
People seldom saw through her role-plays
Even Kate herself sometimes forgot.
As night activities come to an abrupt halt
Kate's masks peel off layer by layer
Until she is too tired to make an effort.
What you saw of her that night disppears slowly
She melts into an unrecognisable form;
Retires to consoling depths of solitary.
I know all this because Kate told me so.
