E. E. Cumming’s “I like my body when it is with your body”. On completion of the reading, I noticed that there is a type of love. Foreign and inaudible to me.
And never have I been loved as such.
He wrote about her. What a treat, to be with someone I inspire so much that he would write such careful words about me.
What is sad?
That I have loved in a similar way. Writing, expressing your beauties.
What is sad?
In turn, I have never been loved and written of. Never felt it. And so I hope someday I am with a someone who not only loves me openly, but secretly, in solitude, with a pen and paper.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
E. E. Cumming’s “I like my body when it is with your body”. On completion of the reading, I noticed that there is a type of love. Foreign and inaudible to me.
And never have I been loved as such.
He wrote about her. What a treat, to be with someone I inspire so much that he would write such careful words about me.
What is sad?
That I have loved in a similar way. Writing, expressing your beauties.
What is sad?
In turn, I have never been loved and written of. Never felt it. And so I hope someday I am with a someone who not only loves me openly, but secretly, in solitude, with a pen and paper.
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