I create routine: walk to work, take vitamins, jog in Bronxville, practice the Alexander Technique. I use the Crestwood library. Read Jung. Do my dishes. Go out on dates. Cook for myself. Look at the stars. Blog. Pray. Dance.
I am not ready for desire to rear its insistent head. I don't want to entertain notions or hopes. To start negotiating, dreaming, wondering.
I try to be an open window in a spare room, a swept floor, a quiet corridor. But love is like a camellia bush, blooms falling on the ground, red and open.
1 comment:
I do recognize that the image is of a rose bush and not a camellia bush. But I couldn't find an appropriate photo of a camellia, so this'll have to do.
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