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Robert Frost sat in a chair. Robert Frost wore a hat that I don’t quite know how to describe (was it a beret?) and smoked from a hookah. He let the smoke out from his mouth and disappeared in it. (Robert Frost was not the man who wrote that poem about two roads diverged in a wood and I… I took the one less traveled by.) Robert Frost was a man who I loved very much and who I believe did not love me. He was an enigma to me and I was one to him… but he was effortless, and I was planned. My heart was set on Frost but I never quite (or I suppose at all) won him -- he chose her, which tortured my heart at the time, but today… …I am happy, happy for him. Robert Frost sat in a chair smoking from a hookah. He disappeared into the smoke and I stared at him, mesmerized. He was the cuts on my arms and the bruises on my thighs, the bags under my eyes for the late nights I stayed up crying; the slump in my shoulders, the hesitation in my stare -- in every way the source of my misery and yet in every way, while blinding, my hope.
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Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
after the end
Robert Frost sat in a chair. Robert Frost wore a hat that I don’t quite know how to describe (was it a beret?) and smoked from a hookah. He let the smoke out from his mouth and disappeared in it. (Robert Frost was not the man who wrote that poem about two roads diverged in a wood and I… I took the one less traveled by.) Robert Frost was a man who I loved very much and who I believe did not love me. He was an enigma to me and I was one to him… but he was effortless, and I was planned. My heart was set on Frost but I never quite (or I suppose at all) won him -- he chose her, which tortured my heart at the time, but today… …I am happy, happy for him. Robert Frost sat in a chair smoking from a hookah. He disappeared into the smoke and I stared at him, mesmerized. He was the cuts on my arms and the bruises on my thighs, the bags under my eyes for the late nights I stayed up crying; the slump in my shoulders, the hesitation in my stare -- in every way the source of my misery and yet in every way, while blinding, my hope.
apollo
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apollo
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
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