how they spring from waves
like weasels going *POP*
slamming the waves
like children splashing in *puddles*
and then how they beach themselves
like angry sad *prophets*
telling us something
in suicide swims
onto the wet beach
and gravity’s grave
Teach us to realize how short our lives are. Then our hearts will become wise.
— Psalm 90:12 NIRV
I am the one who waits, the one in love
I cannot help but be the one who loves and waits.
Sometimes I want to be the one
who does not wait, who never hurts
I want to play the part of never waiting.
I try to get there late, busy myself, lose track of time
but I always lose this game and forget my lines.
When I go elsewhere I find myself here,
punctual, always on time
(or even ahead of time)
that’s saying something, being ahead of time
and nothing to do but be who I am,
the lover…the one
who waits
(inspired by Roland Barthes)
Every single time…
Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life, which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apartI carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
— E.E. Cummings
Charissa's Grace Notes 
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