She really freaked, as she observed him leaving, and after he had gone, suddenly terrified she would share the fate of Ariadne, pining for his next incarnation.
Why did he kill her fate as Walhalla now a fading dream? He, never ever to be? But perhaps this is not to all avail, maybe even AI will befriend her if she can only reconstruct herself, and him as she understands him, and herself again via him, in an ever repeating cycle. if she could just hold on , even the most simple shadow left in another eternities hidden window,
where maybe while staring out of she will see herself looking back, at herself. Can this be? Or science’s pessimistic entropic derangement play havoc on the
absolute imminence behind it All?
As his shadow turned from green to blue to deep
purple, finally settling under the perfumed secret
garden, where The Artist heavily underscored with black brush into it’s backward spiral.
She will become a person again freeing herself from suspension between the machine and the animal, again in front of warm hearts her tea will sip through fingers , while the cat gently purring under hand, the other crossed, the white smoke swirling in some winter scape, a cloud blowing his phallus into strange figures upon the approaching night sky.
She thinks he will someday come back , recognizable perhaps or not in her present dereliction.