Truthfully, I didn't know what
I was losing. Common sense
said that despite our love of radio quiz shows,
Jane Austen, and Friends of the Library sales,
the distance between my youthful exuberance
and your graying hair was too far to bridge.
I learned simply to enjoy the sticky July afternoons
where Scrabble games blended to evening rendezvous
and you counted the freckles on my back. On the last day,
when you beat me with "atonement" and later
pronounced the final count, I convinced myself
that I could emerge unscathed. Leaving, that afternoon
you kissed my palm and wished me good luck.
I left the apartment as calm and collected as I could wish.
Convinced that I would be the one without regret.
(Revised on 02.09.2008 after comments from Corey)
* * *
Well, in the face of Neruda's love poem, this feels like tacky, sentimental crap. However, onward and upward (hopefully). Tomorrow's theme? Plain and simple--happiness. February is the month I hate the most, and I've been dealing too much in gloom and doom lately. Time for some happiness.
Happiness
by Raymond Carver
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters
,and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
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