Excellent Too much at once in love, followed by too little. Songs of Recovery : Briar-Sting by K. Olsen

How is it you are always farther, the closer I begin to feel? It seems I am chasing my own shadow with embracing arms and tearful eyes, crashing through the briars and wondering, “Why does it sting so much?” Surely there is only one world, and yet somehow we stand in two, and though the ‘twain may meet, never may they cross or mingle— such that I am standing on one shore of this rushing, nonsense reality and you stand upon its opposite. What are words for a bridge,  when love strikes my reason dumb and deafer still you seem to what ardor my muted self allows? Is this castigation for sins of callow youth, inflicted blindly and well-meaning on others when it was first my season to love? I ask again, uncomprehending, for my heart is a foolish thing, incapable of turning from you or doing anything aside from loving more, though my eyes grow blurred and dim: why does it sting so much? Author Notes Today hurt.

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