I watched a chained dog strainĪt every passerby. Leaving our apartment in the middle of the night, so hot even the moon To isolate individual moments, asking whyįriend, that stranger, that drinking, those I brushed the cat, I went to work, I knew the time it took Standing on the porchįiercely missing my sister, how we used to take the bagĭays lost between the clock and my phone: I made coffee, Grey fog, blue sunlight, stones like big footprintsīut with no feeling. You could smell the day’s heat even before the day began.Ĭonstant trickle, endless green trees flanking the highway: The Straw Hats Pirates face-to-face with Admiral Kizaru, the marines Pacifista, Sentomaru and Bartholomew Kuma (one of the seven warlords of the seas. Go on now, if you must I'll get along How much it hurts, I don't want you to know. We've shared our lives and given so much love I can't believe we're really going to part You're moving toward a new life without me I'm left with scars upon my broken heart. Now who I come to, I come clean to, I come good to. Too soon, it's much too soon, my love, for me You smile with ease, but I can only sigh. I wash the silk and silt of her from my hands. He was an Irish poet who won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1923. To make the emerald tigers in her hips leap, This poem by William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) was published in 1893 when he was 28. Move me, break my heart like a clay jar of wine, Unsolvable mysterium-I have to close my eyes to see.Īchilles chasing Hektor round the walls of IliumĪgain the gods put their large hands in me, In the photo her fist presses against the red-gold On fire and in pieces, from the knife’s sharp edge. What is seen and said will never be the same.Įve took the apple in that ache-opened mouth, When the eyes and lips are touched with honey It was Auxocromo, it was Cromóforo, it was Eliza. Like Jacob’s angel, I touched the garnet of her wrist, Gathering grief’s petals she lets fall like horns. Negra llorona.Īlong the clayen banks I follow her-astonished, My chin held too high and to the side, I run through gruesome imitations of anger, contempt, disgust, sadness, surprise.
Sitting on the toilet where light can’t peek through, I pretend the plunger’s a white cane. I wore Mary Janes and high-neck dresses and labeled the shelves “Tuna and Nuts” and “Breakfast Items, Soup.” My hair was always squeaky clean.Īt home, I put on my sunglasses and turn off the lights. There are so many different people to hate, so I keep things simple and hate everyone. They tuck their hair behind their little ears. Something heartfelt shared by Ex on the Mic sets off a chorus of sniffles among the Exes in Rows.
It is one of Wilfred Owen’s last poems, written in September 1918, a few weeks before he was killed. In the video, two men encounter each other as adults and slowly remember the tender love they shared and hid as teenagers. He explains that the relationship that inspired 'That Feeling' was beautiful but filled with shame. Sitting in front of me, and behind me, and also to both sides, are more other former girlfriends. Sometimes soldiers would march during the night, and given the frigid temperatures that beset Northern France in the winter, would be in danger of frostbite and pneumonia. 8 minutes ago &0183 &32 The song marks the first time Jones has publicly addressed his sexuality. At the funeral, his other former girlfriend gives the eulogy.
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