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Love,
I know we are sad and we will be sad. It is a sadness that comes from a place that is too dark to mend. It is a sadness that comes from the realization that things are ever rarely perfect.
My poetry strain to rhyme usually, and rarely do any of my characters feel real onstage.
I can understand when you stare for hours at your painting of poppies and feel glum about the yellows being not quite right. Just like you understand when I work on a comma in a verse, and stare at it for hours, and take it out and put it back and take it out and put it back.
We will never be happy with each other. Because we will never be happy on our own. Because we try to reach to the depths of our beings to bring thoughts out to our verses and canvases, and that is insane.
I know we are sad and we will be sad. It is a sadness that comes from a place that is too dark to mend. It is a sadness that comes from the realization that things are ever rarely perfect.
My poetry strain to rhyme usually, and rarely do any of my characters feel real onstage.
I can understand when you stare for hours at your painting of poppies and feel glum about the yellows being not quite right. Just like you understand when I work on a comma in a verse, and stare at it for hours, and take it out and put it back and take it out and put it back.
We will never be happy with each other. Because we will never be happy on our own. Because we try to reach to the depths of our beings to bring thoughts out to our verses and canvases, and that is insane.
posted by Puff at
April 05, 2016
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