Molly Broxton

For years, I thought The Way Back was the most beautiful, most romantic, most moving, most tragic Leonard Cohen poem. I thought that it defined me. I loved the patient, unrequited but still vaguely-destined-to-be love it conveyed. I thought I wanted to be that tragic, patient, mourning love:

“I wait for you at an unexpected place in your journey like the rusted key or the feather you do not pick up until the way back after it is clear the remote and painful destination changed nothing in your life”

Until someone came along who felt that I had value that was untarnished, immediate, and lasting.

60/365 Now there’s nothing that I tell you that will help you connect the blood tortured night with the day that comes next. but I want it to hurt you, I want it to end. oh, won’t you be naked for me?