“The soul’s like all matter:why would it stay intact, stay faithful to its one form,when it could be free?”
“‘We affect one another quite enough merely by existing. Whenever the stars cross, or is it comets? fragments pass briefly from one orbit to another. On rare occasions there is total collision, but most often the two simply continue without incident, neither losing more than a particle to the other, in passing.’
So they separated, with a metaphor involving stars.”
” I encounter millions of bodies in my life; of these millions, I may desire some hundreds; but of these hundreds, I love only one.”
“Prove to me i’m not gonna die alone.
put your arm ‘round my collar bone, open the door.”
“I want you to know
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
if each day,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.”
I realize that words have no weight to them unless the purported string of letters are lifted upon the backs of action. Words can’t move on its own.
I waken out of this forgetfulness very quickly. In great haste, I reconstitute a memory, a confusion..in amorous absence, I am, sadly, an unglued image that dries, yellows, shrivels.
“My whole life, I’ve felt as though I were missing something, that the happiness assigned to me existed always at a distance, somewhere, in some place that was somehow beyond me- and when I moved, it moved too, always away but never far as not to haunt me with the feeling of what it might be like to be happy.”