I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end.
Feelings that come back are feelings that never left.
I got a new feeling now, you’ve been teaching to me, just like I told you once, just like a new religion to me, and I see perhaps what really loving is like, like really having everything together, new things, little pieces all different, like I always before been thinking was bad to be having, all go together like, to make one good big feeling. You see, it’s certainly like that you make me been seeing, like I never know before any way there was of all kinds of loving to I see that now, sometimes, the way you certainly been teaching me, and then I love you those times, like a real religion, and then it comes over me all sudden, I don’t know anything real about you but I still love you always, you know that now, all right, for certain.
You are a sentence
and I am a semicolon
begging you to go on.