i was most terrific at hindsight, most terrible in the
moment, with treasure built into a repeated cycle. i loved genuinely, sat in
dirt, rending my cloth; torn asunder, over basic reality, shunning my
reflection. to have loved with pride, to have selected with prejudice, some
gift for pains, some miserable beauty, a creature i would live without. i made
clear my dissatisfaction, in earnest to seduce, nothing was worthy of the
castle. two fair mansions, debated by others, given easily to others, with no
room for each other—those that use, abuse, and we chase—to feel like mud and
terror and filth: no grander experience.
i kick the jukebox, a soft song plays, we have croaked
often; saddling up, galloping for love, overlooking each other. i hear the new
gentleman is unique. most terrible perfection. i’ll leave that alone.
i have a rare creature. i’ve learned so much. in the
hurting, I see the love; in the dishonor, I see the honor. while we have
excellent advice, we might not see the need for duplicity. and i’m terrific at
hindsight—loving and approaching correctly—eating greasy wisdom.
