Saturday, March 01, 2008


I am out the door sometime tomorrow morning—OK, it's this morning now.

So be it. But I am as ready as I ever will be, and can only hope that all goes as well as we hope. Three weeks could turn out to be a very long time...

It's not that I don't see his faults [or mine]
Or that I hope he'll change in time, for me—

Or that my acid tongue will let him be—

Or that we can survive on weed and wine.

But love is love, and this love runs so deep

It startles me to contemplate it—I

Have not known life like this, and don't know why

Or how this passion haunts me till I sleep.

I guess, like any lover worth the name,

He gave me what I longed for, made me smile,

Found something in me making it worthwhile.

Each love is new, I find—yet love's the same.

This year of love has raised me from the dead,

And will remain with me till earth's my bed.

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