light at the end of the tunnel.
Maybe
“It feels like rain. And it feels like the rain will feel like love.”
— Don Pomerantz, from “Looking for Love,” Tar River Review (vol. 59, no. 2, Spring 2020)
Susan Sontag, I, etcetera: Stories
I wish
I wish I wrote the way I thought; Obsessively, Incessantly, With maddening hunger. I’d write to the point of suffocation. I’d write myself into nervouse breakdowns, Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing. And I’d write about you a lot more than I should.
Benedict Smith; “I Wish I Wrote the Way I Thought”
“I won’t kiss you. It might get to be a habit and I can’t get rid of habits.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
“I loved you before I was born. It doesn’t make sense, I know. I saw your eyes before I had eyes to see. And I’ve lived longing for your every look ever since. That longing entered time as this body. And the longing grew as this body waxed. And the longing grows as this body wanes. That longing will outlive this body. I loved you before I was born. It makes no sense, I know. Long before eternity, I caught a glimpse of your neck and shoulders, your ankles and toes. And I’ve been lonely for you from that instant. That loneliness appeared on earth as this body. And my share of time has been nothing but your name outrunning my ever saying it clearly. Your face fleeing my ever kissing it firmly once on the mouth. In longing, I am most myself, rapt, my lamp mortal, my light hidden and singing. I give you my blank heart. Please write on it what you wish.”
— Li-Young Lee, from The Undressing: Poems; “I loved you before I was born”
Oh, well.
others: trauma
me, an intellectual: p o e t r y m a t e r i a l