If someone took a picture of us now they’d need to be told,
That we had ever clung and tied
a navy knot with arms at night.
Recently discovered: the poor impression I have left upon the mind of someone for whom I care deeply. It’s a regret to know my inability to step up at a crucial time will forever be the tale told when presenting the memory. What I wouldn’t give for the opportunity to be remembered as better equipped for the task. The truth can be bitter when you’ve caused offense. And regardless of apology or attempts to reconstruct a broken bond, my let down is a part of their history as well as my own. It’s odd to recognize the loss of tender feelings from a former intimate. If only I just didn’t care.
Note to self: best not to write matters that weigh on the heart in the middle of the night where proportion could very likely be blown out the window. Even if there is a therapy in writing thoughts others won’t view.
Query: have I always been so cheerlessly sappy? How exhausting.
As I watched him he adjusted himself a little, visibly. His hand took hold of hers, and as she said something low in his ear he turned toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most, with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn’t be over-dreamed—that voice was a deathless song.