For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
-Percy Bysshe Shelley,
The Cloud, 1820
Friday, March 16, 2007
I wonder
I wonder, in my weaker moments, if I'll have nearly enough strength to last another year and a half, possibly even two, before I get to be with you for good.
I wonder if anyone reads this blog, and can't decide from one moment to the next if I care.
I wonder what you'll look like in 50 years.
I wonder if I'd be a good mother some day.
I wonder how much gas will cost in a year.
I wonder if I'll ever find a career that will both sustain and support me, and fulfill and delight me.
I wonder where I'll be in five years.
I wonder if (and hope that) you'll be there with me.
I wonder if I'll ever live to drive a hover car.
I wonder if I'll ever lose touch with my best friend since first grade.
I wonder if the red I see is someone else's green.
I wonder...
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