ee

some e.e. cummings to whoever will help to build me and not break me: 

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you 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 the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

septiembre

it seems i've not made note of anything here in some time. 
not for lack of things to say, joys or sorrows to share, or tedium to cipher through. 


if i had the words or the skill (skillZ),
 i would write a sonnet to/for september
[the most beloved month]
BUT, as I am lacking in these (those?) regards, 
I must be satisfied with THANK YOU. 
dearest septiembre, 
you have offered me a strange peace i've not felt before. 
you've shaken me to my very marrow, 
and though you are leaving me exhausted, you're leaving me strong. 




"My heart has more rooms than a whorehouse." 
-Gabo, In Time of Cholera
(im going to read everything gabriel garcia marquez has written, 
thanks to Rudy for gifting me 100 Years of Solitude)