a gift to bring you

you have no idea how hard i’ve looked for a gift to bring you.

nothing seemed right.

what’s the point of bringing gold to the gold mine,

or water to the ocean.

everything i came up with was like taking spices to the orient.

—it’s no good giving my heart and my soul because you already have these

so i’ve brought you a mirror.

look at yourself and:

remember

me.

:: rumi

this is water.

wrestle it to the ground

closeness,” he said,

surveying the congregation.

“it’s easy to be close,
but almost impossible to stay close.

think about friends.
think about hobbies.
even ideas.

they’re close to us—
sometimes so close we think they are part of us

and then,

at some point,

they aren’t close anymore.

they go away.

// only one thing can keep something close over time:

holding it there.
grappling with it.
wrestling it to the ground (as jacob did with the angel,)
and refusing to let go.

what we don’t wrestle
we let go of……

love isn’t the absence of struggle.

love is struggle.

:: jonathan safran foer

from
here i am

girls doing.

each other’s pain

in sickness and in sickness. that is what i wish for you. don’t seek or expect miracles. there are no miracles. not anymore. and there are no cures for the hurt that hurts most. there is only the medicine of believing each other’s pain, and being present for it.

 

:: jonathan safran foer

from
here i am

i picture you

i picture you leaving
your coat on the hood.
wallet and keys.
the crisp envelope. 

we all know what it’s like
to imagine the thing—
how glaring
and suddenly close 

the tools are
if you need them:
a stoplight, a prescription.
a few feet of rope.

or that joke of a pistol
you chose at the pawnshop
and loaded, and unloaded,
and cleaned, i picture you

not anyone who says

not anyone who says, “i’m going to be
careful and smart in matters of love,”
who says, “i’m going to choose slowly,
but only those lovers who didn’t choose
at all
but were, as it were, chosen
by something invisible not anyone who says