picked up when I should have gone home.
A man.
They can be the hardest.
He was filled with pain.
With love. And with pain.
He spoke of his wife.
The cancer.
Disfigurement.
Her pain.
And his.
The love.
And the longing…
Later, I remembered this…
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
by Thomas Moore. An Irishman, of course...
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2 comments:
Beautiful, and painful.
the call hung over me until the next day. that night, i told the philosopher about it. but this time he just asked: "do you think you helped him?" "yes," i said no doubt in my voice. "yes. i know i helped him." "the it's all right, kitten. you are doing good." which i did. but i still think about him. and know that really, our problems are so small...
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