Jun 2012
This is not a night to immortalize in words, merely a quiet evening--and there is no great success or fall here. We are more ordinary than we expected to be, yet more odd; and these autumns of our lives are light in fruit.
I feel always like a bright shadow, standing aside--a tree in the garden's periphery, planted as a counterbalance for the side of the eye; paired with a contrasting element and yet waiting to be paired more directly, and to be seen more directly.
My desire has no grand meaning, I am neither deprived nor fulfilled. I am protected, and hurt by protection; for the most part left untended, yet not strong of will or wild.
We are the garden in winter, waiting to be entered and enjoyed; for without you, we are not quite empty, yet not quite full/real. Will spring make me soft/sweet/welcoming again? Will it come (to me)?
I feel always like a bright shadow, standing aside--a tree in the garden's periphery, planted as a counterbalance for the side of the eye; paired with a contrasting element and yet waiting to be paired more directly, and to be seen more directly.
My desire has no grand meaning, I am neither deprived nor fulfilled. I am protected, and hurt by protection; for the most part left untended, yet not strong of will or wild.
We are the garden in winter, waiting to be entered and enjoyed; for without you, we are not quite empty, yet not quite full/real. Will spring make me soft/sweet/welcoming again? Will it come (to me)?
