i’m joining the [subject] war on the side of [unintuitive agent]
my reasoning? you wouldn’t get it. we disagree on priors and while yours are widely legible and i would argue reified, mine are not and much more difficult to comprehend.
But I have enough confidence in what you are to know that your being is dear to me. Life without you would not be impossible, it would be terribly more empty and grey.
what i offered you was more messy and unclear. i’ve since changed for others, but i don’t think i want to take my misguided leap back - it’s yours. i’m yours.
I said a lot of stupid things in the winter once the ice got thinner
But somehow we managed through the fall
So I guess it's not that bad at all
That we're not a thing
But you're here, that's the thing
And I'm not trying to give you a ring
Well, maybe on the phone if you let it sing
i really love 2 people in particular right now. there are so many more i admire, respect, care deeply for. the mourning i feel for them is a tidal wave crashing against my spiritless frame. cry with me, please.
Children picking up our bones
Will never know that these were once
As quick as foxes on the hill;
And that in autumn, when the grapes
Made sharp air sharper by their smell
These had a being, breathing frost;
And least will guess that with our bones
We left much more, left what still is
The look of things, left what we felt
At what we saw. The spring clouds blow
Above the shuttered mansion-house,
Beyond our gate and the windy sky
Cries out a literate despair.
We knew for long the mansion's look
And what we said of it became
A part of what it is ... Children,
Still weaving budded aureoles,
Will speak our speech and never know,
Will say of the mansion that it seems
As if he that lived there left behind
A spirit storming in blank walls,
A dirty house in a gutted world,
A tatter of shadows peaked to white,
Smeared with the gold of the opulent sun.