my careless contagion

" How long will I write like this?" I hear myself ask again. The answer comes as surely as the sun rises: "As long as an ember of her still burns in my heart." And so I write, though no one listens or understands. All these things about her I felt deeply and often for the first time. It went beyond any native desire or feeling I've ever held. It was a gift from somewhere else; it didn't come from me. And I gave these words to the world because I didn't know what else to do. N one of this is hyperbole. This is how I see her. This is how I feel. It felt like a gift that I saw what she is: her mind, her heart, her soul. (Besides all of that, she is ridiculously pretty.) Some may wonder what the big deal is, but they didn't see her to the depth I did. No human being has moved me like she did and continues to. I can't help but write about her. If anyone is asking if she is truly that special, yes, she is that special . The love she shows is beyond wor...

It’s August The sun shines brightly The wind blows soft and warm And reeks of summer’s fecundity What I know and what I knew Are strangers in the night I’m enraptured by make believe And outraged by reality Such is summer Some say August Is summer’s last gasp I say it feels like nothing I’m supposed to have thoughts Ideas and feelings But they left me Long before August I was supposed to be something Destined to be someone But all I wanted was love I would have run To the edge of the world for it It was never there No matter the season Now it’s late Far too late She’s gone and I am too As the song says Some things you can never get back Like the happiness in her voice Before whatever happened happened Long before August Long before now Writers write because They want to capture something Or someone Something they’re missing Or never even had But they want it back all the same I write because it is August All this time I felt I lost her But the truth is sadder She lost me Long before Au...