dolorous interludes.

The Family Unit is a strange concept. It sits at an elongated table with all of its victorian chairs full, majestic feasts, purple and golden robes at both ends of the table, and hearty laughter complementing the roomful of movement, activity and across-the-table conversations. For the moment, everything is perfect; differences are overlooked, faults are forgotten, and even made hilarious. The meeting of three time capsules do nothing to dim the masquerade of joy nor burn out the celebratory candles. Yet the moment passes, and once out of the grandeur of tall chambers and feasty embers, the journey home is plagued with a solemness of cold emptiness and a realisation of the return to routine. The candles are blown out, and like the grey smoke and the melted wax that's left over, the Family Unit disperses, marches to its own camp, and grows cold and old with the night.

posted by voyeur @ 10/18/2003 01:29:00 PM