Mar 19, 2017
"Character, like a photograph, develops in darkness."
seen from Tunisia
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"Character, like a photograph, develops in darkness."
"I have moved so far away from you that I have become a myth; a lie you tell yourself each night. I am the one true thing you've held in the palm of your hand. Your name smiles at me from a crumpled envelope, addressed to the past, unsent and unseen. Inside there is a letter where I tell you a story about the moon, how night after night the darkness carved at the pale curve of her body until she became half the woman she was. There is a word that hurts my heart — one I don't ever say out loud. Like the shadow that lingers in the light, I can't separate myself from your memory. But there are some nights when I look up into the sky, and the moon is whole again."
“Someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. They can love you in a way you have never been loved and still not join you on the bridge. And whatever their reasons, you must leave. Because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. You never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready. There is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in this wide and wild universe. And there is the love that will be ready.”
Moleskine sketch #19: “I am too full of life to be half-loved.”
Moleskine sketch #20: “When she calls him ‘honey,’ she is making a choice. Behind the sweetness of the thing are hundreds of tiny working pieces: the hive, full; the home, him; the heart, them. She puts him in everything, and everything is sweet because of it.”
Moleskine sketch #21: “I believe there is penance in yearning. There is poverty in giving too much of your heart. When your desire for another is not returned in equal measure – nothing in the world can compensate for the shortfall. Sometimes the loneliest place to be is in love.”
"How to say goodbye: Say it like an amputee, each letter a prosthetic limb. Say it because sometimes two just aren’t enough; sometimes you need an entire bouquet of hands to carry all the love, say it because the love always slips through your thousand fingers anyway, like sand, like floss, like water, like a song. Say goodness. Say grace. Say thank you for holding my hair. You held me when I couldn’t stay upright in the storm of myself. Say sorry for the mess. Say goldenrod. Say goose-feather. Say it with all eight muscles of the tongue, as if their leaving was a soft language that didn’t bite back. Say loving you has been the greatest kindness. Say I’ve carried your salt in my wounds. Cradled your heart in my gullet like a prayer, a sacred thing I was too afraid to want or release; say I release you. I deliver you now into the arms of the one who will love you best. Say beauty. Say bless. Say their name, one perfect time while it still belongs to you. Say it even when they refuse to say yours, your name shattering on the hardwood floor of their rejection, their name in your mouth like glass. Names of blood and names of fire. Names that burn when swallowed. Say it with your last breath. With your mouth of insatiable fury. Hungry as the sea, their name a kind of drowning."
“Sometimes the sun sets & things that shouldn’t be golden are golden. There’s a field. There’s a lake & a tree & a bird. Sometimes I am goldenrod crowding a field. Leaves fall from my branches but I try to hold on.”