Y3ll3r (l0v3 at a d1stanc3)

Yeller’s the best colour: not

the colour of mad but the colour

which will lead to sad

one day, and

utterly so,

because first it leads to happy

and when happy is led to,

sad must one day accompany

with vigour.

And yet I now want this sad

because it ain’t a sad

born of waste and

untasted moments only

dreamed about and never

experienced: it is, quite

rather, a sad born of times of

real love and content:

meant by both, in fact: no striving

needed

any more, but a thriving only

weeded from the earths that

answer our emboldening

desires, and wishes and glances

and kisses of

tender

fierce.

So if that is

what you actually

do offer me, please do offer it

clearly: for I am no longer

prepared to sit in silence and

bemoan my gentle

groaning: the tone of your

words was almost so clear,

those two days of

weird wonder,

but my ability to listen

was clouded by weary

brain, and my strange inability

to believe just one thing, and

my curious way of thinking

stuff which makes everything

poss.

But if you want to take this

risk one more time,

then this one more

time I shall be ready: not

idly waiting for casual

encounter nor

uncommitting attitude, but

rather for

the rest of my life to

start with heart and soul

and grey cells attuned to saving

not just ourselves, but

every

one

of

you-

s

and me-

s and

I-

s and

we-

s and

they-

s:

seers all, like the grand humanity

you now re-

present for me,

and have maybe driven for

so many years in

belief and certainty, and

desire and

good

and

wise

and ways, and weighing up

with your tech and numbers:

the beautiful maths

of your love at a distance.

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