[But no, he would not give in. Turning sharply, he walked towards the city’s gold phosphorescence. His fists were shut, his mouth set fast. He would not take that direction, to the darkness, to follow her.] He walked towards the faintly humming, glowing town, quickly.
There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts.
It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.
if I were you I’d pay no attention
to admonitions from me,
made somewhat out of your words
and somewhat out of mine.
I do not believe a word I have said,
except some, except I think of you like a young tree
with pasted-on leaves and know you’ll root
and the real green thing will come.
Let go. Let go.
Oh special person,
this typewriter likes you on the way to them,
but wants to break crystal glasses
when the dark crust is thrown off
and you float all around
like a happened balloon.
- Anne Sexton, Amonitions to a special person (excerpt)