Saturday, December 31, 2011


Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from that chair she sat in,
Time you Thief, who love to get
Sweets in your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, 
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old but add,
Jenny kissed me. 
           Leigh Taylor Hunt

William Butler Yeats called them "your moments of glad grace." That time of your life when youth brightens your being, your skin and heart are new.

Do you remember being in love? That time when we could not get enough of each other. Leaving your company felt like being rendered asunder -- another poetic phrase... Well, its because emotions like that make you think of poetry. There is so much growing inside your chest, you just want to, need to, burst into song, but a lack of opportunity, talent or lyricism drives you alternative literature. One you would not normally understand, but seems suddenly revealed, or glimpsed.

How strange to be like this. Giddy. Counting minutes. Thinking incessantly of the other. Savoring details. Yes, I do remember... This was life before the train wreck. 

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