a book of poems

…that I do not own.

I wish I had found the following lines in a beautifully leather bound book of poems I keep by my bed and read every night, a little faded, the pages I love most creased.

Instead, I found it on Tumblr, where I get most of my culture. It seems to diminish the impact, somehow, but it shouldn’t. Just as words delivered from an unworthy vessel do not make them less true.

March is a month of storms and lust. Spring looks on, like a thought between two people,

  • Mahmoud Darwish (via theperfumemaker)

At any rate, the words are true, this week into the third month, the transition. Especially here, in Korea, where Spring is truly breaking slow and stealthily, in the wind that carries a smell of heat, in the red of my allergy-sensitive nose. It’s coming, and it has brought storms, and lust indeed. Lust for a single life, for the hot deserts, for adventure and escape, again.

You can keep your pedantic lusts and let me have my opposites. A lust for running away.

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