If not for her, he could have forgotten love. Instead, he still remembers, wittingly. The completion of shattered continents, tying lonely seacoasts together by way of the landlocked heartland, bringing mountain snows to dry lake beds: How could this seem so simple? And when she left, saying nothing the least bit unexpected, why did none of her fade, become less than real? A found photograph is as surprising as his reaction, the gratitude at seeing the open-ended, intertwined translations a formula: (thanks to) (because of) / her
A dilemma of the heart, perhaps? A sad and beautiful poem, however.
Jenny
The opinions of the heart are often split. Thanks, Jenny.
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