There can be no peace of mind in love,
Since what one has obtained is never anything
But a starting point for further desires.
-Marcel Proust (1871-1922)
O, where is my heart, beloved? Where has that spoilt thing gone, with its fickle measure, and sullen frown?
O, where has it gone, beloved? And what is this fluttering thing that fills up its empty space?
O, tell me, where has it gone, and why doth this queer emptiness that is so full, overflow my throat, and lungs, and stomach, instead?
O, do tell jaanu, where has that wicked creature gone that you have taken?
Is that it? That sweetness of light that flows ‘twixt the rising suns unveiling your laughter?
Or was it in the tender curve of your mouth, twisting to gentle bemusement?
O, tell me quickly where I can find that pesky thing you have taken with your laughter, and your soul, and your eyes,
For it is quite difficult to fathom what I must do with all this queer glow that beams from my chest like wolf’s moon at dark.
O, beloved, do tell where I am to find it–
That lost organ whose home has been stolen by a possibility so bright, I have not yet had chance to teach bespectacled orbs to not see the burn of flickering stars, still long from burning cold.
O, jaanu, tell my ears before they forget reason’s voice–
Where is that organ you have taken, and what dread glory habits its caves?
K.N.O.W. Thursday, March 24, 2016. 5.30-6. a.m.
😐 I just really needed a reason to use a pretty quote from that journal I never touch. That’s the story I’m sticking with.