I do not write to you, but of you,/because the paper that we write on/is our perishable skin.
We measure everything by ourselves with almost a necessary conceit.
No matter how many times I break…I will repair.
No matter how many times I tear…I will sew.”
-From “Towards Peace in a More Natural Order
Two forces create eternity – a fairy tale and a dream from the fairy tale.
There is only as much space, only as much time,
Only as much desire, only as many words,
Only as many pages, only as much ink
To accept all of us at light-speed
Hurrying into the Promised Land
Of oblivion that is waiting for us sooner or later.
God’s justice in the one, and his goodness in the other, is exercised for evermore, as the everlasting subjects of his reward and punishment.
Be content to love, to dazzle in the light,
If only for moments…
And then be gone,
With gladness in your heart,
Before the creeping shadows
Claim too much your sadness at leaving.
We all knew she needed help.
But none of us knew how.
And none of us could swallow our pride and just ask her what she needed.
I don’t know why.
Maybe we were too ashamed we didn’t know how to approach our own mother.
So we let the years slip unhappily past us and hoped we would never inherit the misery embedded in her soul.
But I did.
And I didn’t know how to say it aloud.
And I still don’t.
as fleetingly beautiful
as a mother’s tears
and a father’s pranks
a brother’s bachelorhood
and a best friend’s bad mood
a bride’s glittering jitters
and a handsome stranger’s smile.
We forget old stories, but those stories remain the same.