What I Learned About Love

I didn’t think it would come down to this. I’m really afraid, in the way that only comes from something so good as love. I’m afraid of what I’ve done.

I saw what happened. Things still suck, and I’ve never felt more foolish. But at least this way I know it’s okay for it to grow and expand. That’s what love does. Once it finds someone, it’s the same for everyone it knows no bounds. I’m glad I told someone. I’m glad I still have more to say.

I want to be able to run, play, and live. I really wish it were possible, almost as much as I want to tell you I love you. How am I feeling? I’m feeling post-suicidal. How do I feel about you? You know.

Hab’ ‘nen Luftballon gefunden
Denk’ an dich und lass’ ihn fliegen…

One Art

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something everyday. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these things will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

My Lullaby

I heard sirens
as I went to bed last night.
I had to wonder who was now dead.
More, I had to wonder
who’d hurt another
and if that other knew pain.

If we’ve all hurt,
why would anyone
stab another
until they bleed crimson red?

Unless they wanted
some sort of justice. Revenge.
Vengeance. Retribution.
A hug.
I started to understand their pain.

It was then when I thought
it was probably only just a fire.