As we fall into step I ask a penny for your thoughts,
“Oh, nothing,” you say,”well, nothing so easily bought.”
Sliding into rhythm of your silence, I almost forget
how lonely I’d been until that autumn morning we met.
At bedtime up along my childhood’s stairway, tongues
of fire cast shadows. Too earnest, too highstrung.
My desire is endless: others ended when I’d only started.
Then, there was you: so whole-hog, so wholehearted.
Think of the thousands of nights and the shadows frought.
And the mornings of light. I try to read your thought.
In the strange openness of your face, I’m powerless,
Always this love. Always this infinity between us.
— Between, Micheal O’Siadhail (via birdhands)
I suspect the truth is that we are waiting, all of us, against insurmountable odds, for something extraordinary to happen to us.
— Khaled Hosseini, And the Mountains Echoed (via vedere-paul)
…what we are practicing
which everybody practices,
but strangely few of us
grow graceful in.
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