he could only cling on to all their ings. it was what kept them in process, all that waiting and reading and writing. he clung on as he could. she was much stronger than he. he had known it from the start, she hid it well, but he had seen it straight off. in weakness he dreamt of escaping and of their walking out in the evening cooling.
in awaking he knew he had been dreaming. was he being punished for speaking, for daring the want of flying? all was processing confusing him. he was awaiting but no longer forgetting, remembering all the awaiting and all the writing and reading. he asked her to keep continuing, even only for their speaking. all was spiralling
he was falling.
