May 2012
57 posts
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Were my hands meant for yours?
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Be great in little things.
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Your memory is a monster; you forget—it doesn’t. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you—and summons them to your recall with a will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you.
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It’s a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. You realize what’s changed is you.
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Every minute you spend with someone gives them a part of your life and takes part of theirs.
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Let the lover be disgraceful, crazy, absentminded. Someone sober will worry about things going badly. Let the lover be.
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I want to be like water. I want to slip through fingers but hold up a ship.
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And he took her in his arms and kissed her under the sunlit sky, and he cared not that they stood high upon the walls in the sight of many.
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What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.
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