What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the mornings, what you will do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.
Here and gone. That’s what it is to be human, I think—to be both someone and no one at once, to hold a particular identity in the world and to feel that solid set of ties also capable of dissolution, slipping away, as we become moments of attention.
Everything you love is here
Maybe I’m too young to keep good love from going wrong. But tonight you’re on my mind. So, we’ll never know. Broken down and hungry for your love but no way to feed it.
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I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2am, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.
I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.
And now we’re supposed to go back to our normal lives. That’s what people do. They have these amazing experiences with another person, and then they just go home and clean the bathroom or whatever.
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