I decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover, and that I would never learn a word of shorthand. If I never learned shorthand I would never have to use it.
I decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover, and that I would never learn a word of shorthand. If I never learned shorthand I would never have to use it.
I hadn't, at the last moment, felt like washing off the two diagonal lines of dried blood that marked my cheeks. They seemed touching, and rather spectacular, and I thought I would carry them around with me, like the relic of a dead lover, till they wore off of their own accord.
A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
In life, love gnawed my skin
To this white bone;
What love did then, love does now:
Gnaws me through.
O love, how did you get here?
It is a love of death that sickens everything.
Walks there not some such one man
As can spare breath
To patch with brand of love this rank grimace
Which out from black tarn, ditch and cup
Into my most chaste own eyes
Looks up.
What did my heart do, with its love?
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories