relax the sun is good and see it come in through the window but there is another source hidden and secret is the heat that rises from your chest and enters mine and breaks down the walls of the city inside and heals all the broken
yesterday with you in March, the cherry blossoms - please don't miss the little flowers in your search for a more giving thing because sweet darling love, there is none. only the children know this, but I think we are all children after the rain.
The blooming of the Western Azalea is emergence into womanhood! The inevitable burst of color from bud, that once released- cannot endure the contrast, cannot linger in the putrid air between us- a film covers her pink blush. Everything returns to a uniform grey.
It is late September which means Summer is dead or dying. And this confirms the rule- (there is no ***- and always a final descent). But living is to thirst for an exception. This is Love's promise: that its brilliance will shield it from its fate. It is the same promise that Summer made.
It is not enough to have known her. (She was near the ocean). It is not enough to hold in the mind each pattern on each petal (a Summer flower). To love is to believe that Summer persists! But this is not the order of living- She is momentary, like all things.