I dreamed I was in love again last night, heart-stoppingly, tooth-chatteringly, head-achingly afflicted with it. Mown down and unrepentant.

The other day at a red light I wrote this in a notebook:
(back to) the dark places where we were afraid 
of each other, wanted each other (better.)

One of those days I was naked, one I was crying, one I don't remember at all.

There is the kind of love that is fear, and the kind of love that is the comfort for all fears. How do we group those in the same category, let alone the same word?

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive

More at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/enantiomer/