Because when we are good, we are inseparable. If it rains and I can't cling to you I get anxious about gravity. When we are bad we don't admit it. In the quiet dark you message young girls online. Twenty-year-old loud ones with big full chests, and I walk over town mumbling my dead boyfriend's name. Neither of us can help it. From our experiences we know that love can get awful, it can get desolate, it can get ruinous, and good. But it is a level playing field on Sundays at the table. Like a festival on grass where I can sincerely congratulate all your hard work. Where you kiss me all the time, all the time, all the time. Where I get a sense that I will understand soon the silver truths of marriage. Why people in the end get o.k. to die.
Eleanor and Park