Heights Ateneo — The Official Literary and Artistic Publication and Organization of the Ateneo de Manila University
Making ribbons in the gray sky, the plane a body in motion, in heat, whirring for pulse, seeking sacrifice. You loved it without reservation: the labor, not the eventual violence. Loved the mathematics, like the thrill of creation; logic, like control; measurement, like imposition.
Dearest, you must learn to live without me. If you dwell, dwell on the periphery: remember the parasol, the chemise your mother stitched during my bedridden days, the sanitorium where those days diminished with you gone.
Maybe in this way you are a god, binding an entire life to your presence. Or absence. You dreamt many nights about the rubble, human deaths as a consequence of your labor.
Not a consequence, you explained, but the desired effect. Come closer, I said finally. Have your smoke here. Holding your beautiful, precise hands as I fade, already a wired woman. And you would have thought shamefully that this losing’s the kind movies were made for. Maybe just the opposite of a god who fetishizes consolation, takes human action for granted. The gust of past years returning to sky. We must try to live.
After Hayao Miyazaki’s “The Wind Rises”
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