I surround the pillow with the blanket and imagine it’s flesh and skin. I press my tear soaked cheek against it and hold on tight. My arms wrapped around something warm. It’s enough to still my heart. Enough for one more night.
With enough imagination even a fleeting moment of joy is sufficient for a lifetime.
My heart holds within two friends who cannot live without the other: one feels the joy of life, the other its agony.
My hands have touched few but my heart compensates by holding many.
It is the vestiges of things elsewhere that most attract me to life.
One window is all I need to travel a universe.
If you can bring everything to life then you will never be lonely.
Looking out of my office window I see the branches of a tree bow and wave—a true kindness considering its superiority. The raindrops on the window, growing jealous of our intimacy, increase in volume. The tree responds by waving its branches with even greater intensity and I by weeping.
And just like that I have made a new friend.
Melancholy is as exquisitely inquisitive as happiness is blissfully unaware.
Romantic love is a pirouette at the lip of a yawning void.