He was my husband, my apartment mate, my soul mate, the father of the little plant in my confused soil, the lover who had made me adore his body without inhibition after my years of relative solitude, the person for whom I’d given up my old self.
It is still news to her that passion
could steer her wrong
though she went down, a thousand times
across railroad tracks, off bridges
under cars, or stiff
glass bottle still in hand, hair soft
on greasy pillows, still it is
news she cannot follow love (his
burning footsteps in blue crystal
snow) & still
come out all right.
Happiness is not the simple purpose of life but it is the ultimate purpose of all purposes of life.
The rest of 2012’s big winners are romances, all but one (The Lucky One, by Nicholas Sparks) of the sexed-up genre now known as “mommy-porn.
Hugs are nourishment for the heart.
I think that perhaps we always fall in love the very first instant we see the man of our dreams, even though, at the time, reason may be telling us otherwise, and we may fight against that instinct, hoping against hope that we won’t win, until there comes a point when we allow ourselves to be vanquished by our feelings.
Wise men taste after the heart, but the foolish ones ponder over the face.
There is no grief like heartbreak.
The affectionate farce I make of him ignores the ways I feel his lack of love for me. But we are managing.
As believers, our reaction to crisis reveals our heart toward God.