September 14, 2005

• On days like today I wish I was a poet, so that my words would have the
  eloquence to describe my heart. But instead the harshness and
  inadequacy of my language keeps a steady vigil against my communication.

  Like trying to describe the myriad of feeling effected on me when I
  tell her her eyes are pretty, and she turns her head, slightly
  embarrassed. Or the way one of us can say a thing with such veiled
  meaning and emotion in it, afraid to let the whole of it out, that the real meaning of it seems to float
  about like a substance, until the other, with fearless knowledge of
  the first's heart: plucks it, and says it aloud. And how that whole
  exchange makes me so happy, satisfied, and comforted every time.

  • 1:31 pm
  • 2 Comments