how there are so many
things in life that hurt
but are commonplace enough
to go right on
living with?
Perhaps, in the end,
all the people
and words
which are impossible to forget
are really a curse;
perhaps the best moments
are the ones you
can't recall:
the ones which gave nothing
and asked the same in return;
perhaps it's a mercy
to remain distant,
unconcerned;
perhaps if you had
cared more, you would have
fared worse.
Perhaps
"Anything is possible"
is the province of astrologists—
a refrain
sung by dodgers
and foolhardy mystics.
If anything,
in the end,
the exceptional person
is the one who would posit
the inverse:
"this is nowhere near
where I dreamed I'd be—
but it works."
