What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
It’s a sad thing, never being able to fully grasp how much you are loved.
Memory is strong
Beyond the bone.
I wish I could communicate my feelings without putting them in words, without speaking. Even though I’m a writer. Even though I am writing this.
I had a long talk with a good friend tonight and I don’t feel so alone. I can move forward.