Tick Yes or No

              David had never been gifted, but always enthusiastic, so he closed his eyes and thought of Emma on the bus,
              Emma, glorious on the bus, Emma on the threadbare worn seat as regal as if it was a sedan seat, as if she was being carried, as if every person who shyly avoided the near-atomic burn of her beauty were her footmen, just as every person on that bus would fall to their knees and let her stand on their backs, as though they were velvet capes to protect her most delicate and precious feet from treading upon the ground, that heathen ground, where the plebs and mortals walk, and every person on that bus who gazed upon her explosive visage knew that
              Emma was born to float above them, as her domain was not the world but the sky, for she was so wonderful she could not be human, but a goddess, cast down from the heavens because the angels were envious, and she would fly among men unaware of her effect, as unknowing as a nightingale of the humans who eavesdrop, enraptured by its song, and Emma’s voice itself was as tender and sweet as the melodies of the birds at nightfall, the birds who sing glorious farewells to the sun as it sets, as though it would be the last time the sun would ever grace the earth, and the birds wanted it to remember their serenade forever,
              just as Emma’s beauty would be remembered forever, scorched onto the memories of all feeble men who encountered her, and who tossed and turned each night of their lives thinking of her, whether they knew her, or whether she was simply a stranger on the street, or whether they forgot that they discovered her physical existence and were forced to wonder if they had only dreamed of her, as though she had dipped her fingers into the foggy ocean of their imaginations and cast ripples through every coil of cortex and nerve in their brain, reverberating now and evermore in their every word, action and thought,
              until every night they would lie in bed and pray and hope and beg to any and every deity that might listen that, when they closed their eyes, they would be transported to hazy reverie in her company, that they could dream of her even though they knew they could never decide for themselves where their minds go for the night, and so they would pray and hope and beg that, if they did dream of her, if she did emerge on their conscious, dancing and intoxicating behind closed eyes, they would ask to never wake up again,
              because Emma was simply so wonderful that all who found themselves in her presence instantly knew that they would never find a sight so magnificent in their earthly lives again, and so they would be as well to walk into the deepest ocean, or jump from the highest mountain, or wander into the darkest forest, and they would not fear death, because she was more powerful than death, she was more powerful than any thing, because she was every thing,
              she was the bitter icy grasp of the freezing water, and she was the feeling of the pressure crashing against their heart until it exploded in their chest, and she was the deep sea fish that kissed and caressed their bodies as they sank to the bottom of the sea
              and she was the rush of air whipping past their faces as they dropped, and she was spiralling motions their arms made as they posed and grappled and struggled against gravity, and she was the quickening ground beneath them that seemed so far away and suddenly closer and closer still, ever advancing upon their falling forms,
              and she was navy-blue shadows that surrounded them, and she was crunches and twitters and brushes of the hidden unknown beings, masked by the absence of light, and she was the absence of light, and she was the distant presence of light as well, she was the treetops that hid the moon and she was the moon,
              she was the moon and the stars and the sky, and she was every thing that any one could see, and she was every thing that no one could see, she was magnetic north and the air all around enveloping the world, and she was the atmosphere, holes and all, she was the line of the horizon and the distance from the sky to the ground,
              and she was all the little things too, like tinkling laughter of babies, and glistening teardrops of dormice, and fond memories that sooth old ladies on their deathbeds, and the pride of the poppies, and the feeling of bare skin upon bare skin and lips upon lips, and she was the strange circumstances how people found love who never thought they would find love,
              and she was the answer to all the mysteries, she was where the dinosaurs went and how the pyramids were formed and who kaspar hauser was and what the voynich manuscript reads and she was why hate and why love and why we think and why we are, and she was why all people lay foot on this earth, she was their reason to live,
              and she was all the abstract things, she was art and thought and right and wrong, she was good and bad and she was the feeling that burned like acid in the hearts of all people, whenever there was injustice or cruelty or untruth, she was the reason people fight for what they believe, she was passion, she was obsession, she was that word – that word LOVE -

              and David thought all this and thought when he might see her again, and thought when he would offer his love to her, and anticipation grew and his stomach throbbed and shivering determination overtook him and so finally he wrote on a page EMMA WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME TICK YES OR NO