Now I never talk
with anyone
without you beside me,
hearing my words
almost yours equally to speak.
What do we have
that love can’t be itself,
that when a person
thinks of another,
she leaves herself
to be gathered
like a word overheard.
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1 comment:
keats called it
negative capability (i guess)
and whatever it is you took from your life to get to this, it is somehow harrowing but at the same time overwhelmingly comforting.
wonderful
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