she was the third beer.
i. not the first one,
which the throat receives with almost tearful gratitude;
ii. nor the second,
that confirms and extends the pleasure of the first.
iii. but the third,
the one you drink because it’s there,
because it can’t hurt,
what difference does it make?
it sounded old—
—now: it seemed to him that he-was-always-saying-or-thinking that he-didn’t-deserve-some-bad-luck-or-some-bad-treatment from others.
(he’d told Guitar that he didn’t-deserve-his-family’s
between any two beings there is a unique, uncrossable distance, an impenetrable sanctuary. sometimes it takes the shape of aloneness. sometimes it takes the shape of love.
:: jonathan safran foer
here i am
some of us are surrounded by destructive people who tell us:
we’re worthless when we’re endlessly valuable,
that we’re stupid when we’re smart,
that we’re failing even when we succeed.
but the opposite of people who drag you down isn’t people who build you up and butter you up.
it’s equals who are generous but keep you accountable, true mirrors who reflect back who you are and what you are doing.
:: rebecca solnit
the loneliness of donald trump
let the leftovers rot.
let the last candle burn.
let the clocks think
whatever they want.
this is the night,
says the night, you were given.
the hour, each hour,
so lean into me, love
kiss the blue children.
come cast our brief
let the wet branches lash
the black windows like death.
let me lie down
beside you forever.