ONE CAN STUMBLE INTO A LABYRINTH

“Believe in yourself,” Donna Anna said, her voice small but penetrating. “You have drunk from the river, have you not?” “Yes, I was very thirsty.” “It is good that you did so,” Donna Anna said. “That river flows along the interstice between presence and absence. It is filled with hidden possibilities that only the finest metaphors can bring to the

The portrait might be a passable likeness, but no more. To turn out a true portrait, I had to discover the story that must be painted. Only that could get the ball rolling.

I knew nothing about aerating wine, but it had a deep flavor. When your tongue first encountered it, then when you held it in your mouth, and finally when you drank it down, the flavor was different each time. It was like a mysterious woman whose beauty changes slightly depending on the angle and light. The wine left a pleasant aftertaste.

conjecture

munificent

Mariye, however, loved the painting (“It shows how I think these days,” was how she put it), and wanted to keep it near her if possible. So I readily gave it to her in its unfinished state (along with the three sketches I had promised earlier). “I think it’s cool,” Mariye said. “It’s a work in progress, and I’m a work in progress too, now and

and smiled. “So that painting is finished, you’re

“Do you remember how you sketched my face on our first date?” “I do.” “I take it out sometimes and look at it. It’s really well done. I feel like I’m looking at my real self.” “Your real self?” “Right.” “But don’t you see your face every morning in the mirror?” “That’s different,” Yuzu said. “My self in the mirror is just a physical reflection.”