October 19, 2004

I picked ten cards which she arranged carefully on the black cloth.

“You are the Knight of Cups,” she said, flipping the first one over, “man of uncertainty and unrestrained emotions. And this, the hermit you carry on your back, shows there are things you shroud in silence.”

She let her words sink in, and then went on showing me chariots, waters, and the dark side of the moon. I do not find the hanged man.

“Your love,” she said, “is the Queen of Cups, lady of intensity.” She’s fierce, passionate, loyal, everything I’m not. I still don’t know how to love her. On Friday afternoon she’s coming to Waterloo. I’ll hold her and kiss her lips in the rain with unrestrained emotion. The hermit will shroud my thoughts in silence.