One day, perhaps it will be many years from now, I will tell you about Iris.
Iris; the girl who was beautiful, untouchable and untameable. The girl so flexible, so beguiling yet deceitful, that she seemed to be tied nowhere and to nobody. She was untethered and you could sense it in the way she drew breaths, like she drew them deeper than anyone else just to point out the glory of being limitless.
She was never limitless, but it sometimes seemed that she could be.
She could not be held - nobody could find her end, or her beginning - and she was small but somehow too vast to fit into a hand. Anyone who believed they could tie her down somewhere diminished her. They deluded themselves with the happy fantasy that girls were tokens that could be known and owned. Out of all such fools, I was the most deluded.
She was like the iris of an eye; she crushed you or stretched you, depending on the day, and altered the way you saw things and the way the world was lit.
Sometimes you might have felt that you knew her but it only took a twist of her hypnotic eyes to change that. She was a pendulum with no metronome. She was an arcing spectrum; made up of so many patchwork pieces that she seemed technicolor. Not many knew that she saw herself in sepia – least of all me.
She was wild and I chased her, pursued her for some sort of reality. I searched for answers that she could not give me and led myself down all the wrong streets but, in the end, I found only eyes with no Iris.
She was just that; inexplicable, manipulative and unimaginable.
And there, I’ve told you about Iris now; she’s hanging off the page so that you can pluck her from it. I haven’t told everything but I suppose I will - I must - at some date.
Not right now though; not today.