I wish to fall in love so that I may take a vacation from seeing.
Sometimes I look for words. Other times they look for me.
It is the sort of romance that would compel me to write a sonnet if I could only find the words.
My heart holds within two friends who cannot live without the other: one feels the joy of life, the other its agony.
“The stars do not brush against us, thus they conserve their splendor.” (Baltasar Gracian)
Words of wisdom to be heeded by Romantics everywhere.
Our most glorious portrayals of love are frequently written by those whose love was unrequited. For longing enriches imagination while having lends itself to living.
It is the vestiges of things elsewhere that most attract me to life.
Almost everything the world has to offer leaves me floored. I cannot love by halves. I cannot see beauty without being moved to tears. I cannot feel understood without overwhelming gratitude. I cannot experience a work of art without ebullience. Life comes to me as a torrential downpour–I tilt my head back, open my arms and allow myself to be soaked.
I hasten a retreat into imagination not because I despise the rain, but to catch my breath, soothe my heart and recover my childlike eyes.
I was given a tiny pot of daisies when I moved into my apartment. They are plain yellow daisies–nothing especially beautiful about them. Were they in a large field of flowers they would look unremarkable.
Neither is there anything special about the tin pot in which they live. Left in the garden section of a home goods store, it would reside at the dusty bottom of a neglected clearance bin.
I love these flowers because they wilt every single day. And every single day a tiny splash of water brings them instantaneously back to life. They are beautiful because they are fragile and resilient. I care for them because they show me their hurt as well as their joy.
If these flowers were a person, they would be my friend.
If you can bring everything to life then you will never be lonely.
Looking out of my office window I see the branches of a tree bow and wave—a true kindness considering its superiority. The raindrops on the window, growing jealous of our intimacy, increase in volume. The tree responds by waving its branches with even greater intensity and I by weeping.
And just like that I have made a new friend.