And The Angels Love The Broken Best Of All
I don’t know whose story this is. It could be mine. It could belong to us all. Maybe there’s some sublime universal screenplay out there and we’re all acting from it, adding our little bits but never changing a thing. Maybe everything is written.
Doesn’t feel like it though.
There are times when the whole world feels like I made it up – especially since there was you. Surely no such creature could ever be real.
When you looked at me that way – and I believed in you – it was a beautiful light. It made the pavements look lovely.
And even though I knew it was impossible – I preferred it to the truth. Don’t we all?
I would rather wander in the desert with you – dying of thirst – than follow the roads alone.
You can be a bitch – you can be a liar – you can be just like me …
We can be imperfect – we can be impure – we can be free.
The beggars are the kings. The fools are the wise. The lost are the found.
And the hungry shall be fed.
And all because of you.
[This letter is an extract from a dance theatre piece called ‘An Incomplete Map of Desire]