And, an Ode** to Love
It was silly of me to think it would be easy to let go of fights over definitions, connotations and what is real and what is, in fact, constructed.
And, to think that the ebb and flow of anger and happiness, giggles and exasperation would be replaced by coffee and cats seems silly too.
It appears true that ambiguity is the best I can hope for, and that when I toss it away I won't be indifferent. Missing the sadness will be a sad affair, no longer an actor but simply remembering.
What are old emails to being outraged over IM?
* dirge is a kind of boat.
** ode is a kind of sad poem.