my romantic tryst with cancer

So this is what it's like when love leaves, and one is disappointed that the body and mind continue to exist, exacting payment from each other, engaging in stale rituals of desire, and it would seem the best use of one's time is not to stand for hours outside her darkened house, drenched and chilled, blinking into the slanting rain. So this is what it's like to have to practice amiability and learn to say the orchard looks grand this evening as the sun slips behind scumbled clouds and the pears, mellowed to a golden-green, glow like flames among the boughs. It is now one claims there is comfort in the constancy of nature, in the wind's way of snatching dogwood blossoms from their branches, scattering them in the dirt, in the slug's sure, slow arrival to nowhere. It is now one makes a show of praise for the lilac that strains so hard to win attention to its sweet inscrutability, when one admires instead the lowly goug...

I can feel it, in every sinew, in every nerve. My heart feels a heaviness and a lightness in the very same breath The unbearable lightness of being. This is it. I'm in love again, I think, and this uncertainty is so delirious... I want the answers now. I want the ending. But not at the cost of living the story. I want it all revealed so that the waves that are life, that wrack my being, subside, and therefore it must be real. I didn't think life gave one a chance to feel these feelings again, and again, and yet again... it is forgiving, if you let it be. It sounds pathetic to think that life rations out moments like these, but it doesn't, we do. Sometimes fate cracks that coconut of a thickening shell and lets us feel the raw temperature and pulse of life. And then the dreams that followed. Vivid, real... I've theorized, with conviction, that in order to really be a part of me, someone, or something, has to enter my dreams. I woke up several times, comic...