(no subject)
there is nothing i want more than to become proof that
i have been wrong. i have been WRONG
about language, about movement,
about dreams, about gravity,
about faith.
words don't create peace any more than
love creates happiness.
(if i had a chance to start believing,
i would take it in a heartbeat.)
there is no way to know--
and isn't that, really, what believing means?
i believe in the validity of my feelings and
sometimes even in their beauty,
but i don't know their presence nearly as intimately as
i know their absence.
i don't know anything about happiness that lasts,
about fullness that warms the heart slowly and constantly--
all i know is a certain kind of tragic beauty,
a certain kind of lingering goodbye.
(i don't know anything.)
but still,
i am amazed by the amount and severity of changes i, we,
are obligated to not only survive,
but "handle" with grace.
and as much as i cling to everything i've
always said,
everything i've refused to define or
refused to let go of--
hell, i still can't define it. i can't pick it apart in any
meaningful way.
there is no good way to say how much i have grown to
love myself
and how much i still grow to love
you--
but
i can feel it. i feel much bigger than i used to.
questions of "how" and "why" and "are you sure?" have stopped mattering
because of necessity,
and have continued to not matter
because of clarity.
now i am just looking for a chance. (my chance.)
now i am just waiting.
"I love you more than one more day."
i have been wrong. i have been WRONG
about language, about movement,
about dreams, about gravity,
about faith.
words don't create peace any more than
love creates happiness.
(if i had a chance to start believing,
i would take it in a heartbeat.)
there is no way to know--
and isn't that, really, what believing means?
i believe in the validity of my feelings and
sometimes even in their beauty,
but i don't know their presence nearly as intimately as
i know their absence.
i don't know anything about happiness that lasts,
about fullness that warms the heart slowly and constantly--
all i know is a certain kind of tragic beauty,
a certain kind of lingering goodbye.
(i don't know anything.)
but still,
i am amazed by the amount and severity of changes i, we,
are obligated to not only survive,
but "handle" with grace.
and as much as i cling to everything i've
always said,
everything i've refused to define or
refused to let go of--
hell, i still can't define it. i can't pick it apart in any
meaningful way.
there is no good way to say how much i have grown to
love myself
and how much i still grow to love
you--
but
i can feel it. i feel much bigger than i used to.
questions of "how" and "why" and "are you sure?" have stopped mattering
because of necessity,
and have continued to not matter
because of clarity.
now i am just looking for a chance. (my chance.)
now i am just waiting.
"I love you more than one more day."