Why must I suffer this torture of being without you when I believe that you want to be with me, and I know that it is you that I have waited for? My life is lived in a state of tension waiting for you to return to me, my heart. I never believed you existed until I had you, and it is hard for me to realize now that you are...
I have to write tonight because to not do so would mean that someone would not understand… or too many. I have spent the night inthe middle of a 3 mile walk in which the certaintude of things became apparent. Did you know that I love Frank O’Hara’s ” The Day Lady Died.” Some fools apparently thing it is about a dog. I can tell you that no dog can sing like that. I mean, there is dog who can even sing like that, at least I hope. I can hear her call of the strange fruit. Poetry is like breathing to me now, and finally. If you do not understand that, please get out of my way, Let me breathe. Let me be. Find a way to resuscitate your belief so you can go on fooling the rest of us into loving you for a little...
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