this used to be a ghost story

…you move wounded, you are hurt, you hurt, you want to get out, you want to tear yourself out…

You are not going crazy. You are beginning to fold up in your own single way. You feel your edges move toward the center, your heart like a folded blanket unfolding and folding in with everything contained. You feel you do not need anyone to love you anymore because you already feel everything, you feel it, you fold it, and for a while now, it will quietly rest.

and don’t forget: time is meant to be wasted, love fails and death is useless.

It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do– determined to save the only life you could save.

Some wounds never vanish. Yet little by little I learned to love my life. Though sometimes I had to run hard – especially from melancholy – not to be held back.

I walked upon a hill And the wind, made solemnly drunk with your presence, Reeled against me. I stooped to question a flower, And you floated between my fingers and the petals, Tying them together. I severed a leaf from its tree And a water-drop in the green flagon Cupped a hunted bit of your smile. All things about me were steeped in your remembrance And shivering as they tried to tell me of it.