day 111

she, an enigmatic figure, walked into my life, all flip-floppy and dragged herself, with half-witty and half-nonchalant responses.

is love an object? a pillow you hug?

she, a familiar face, a moon glowing and reflecting the light that whizzes her off, light years later and back, to the moment of chance and the encounter that make possible -love.

between possibility and necessity, I prefer just love. whether described as old as the hills or as strange as polarities, it is really just the trembling idea of how we love before we met.

So, do not forget, I, the vigilance that love demands.
do not forget, once apart now together, the thousand years that brought us here were sufficient to weave the possibility of love and soon close the narrative in an earthquake of death - we will meet again when we forget. when we do not remember each other again, we will love again.

is love a subject? I and you?

Love is the perpetual verb that makes possible the noun of eternity.

we, dragging each other, throw ourselves into this world, with half of us somewhere far away, as we split in atomic instances -

we love,