Commitment is an act, not a word
What we speak becomes the house we live in.
My favorite Bukowski poem.
“I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
who made me laugh
― Charles Bukowski
I would like to travel the world with you twice. Once, to see the world
Twice, to see the way you see the world
Before you know it it’s 3 am and you’re 80 years old and you can’t remember what it was like to have 20 year old thoughts or a 10 year old heart.
Never bend your head. Hold it high. Look the world straight in the eye.
It’s superb to be out in the early, early morning before the sun comes up. There’s this sense of being super-alive. You’re in on a secret that all the dull, sleeping people don’t know about. Unlike them, you’re alert and aware of existing right here in this precise moment between what happened and what’s going to happen.
You know how Hemingway writes? He couldn’t write about this girl’s face. Because he’d say something like, ‘It was a pretty face.’ And that wouldn’t be enough. This face needs someone like Dickens, or maybe Tolstoy. Someone who’d take a whole page and spend time on her eyebrows and her cheeks, or maybe notice the shape of her mouth when she is concentrating on walking with her cane.
We have all hurt someone tremendously, whether by intent or accident. We have all loved someone tremendously, whether by intent or accident. It is an intrinsic human trait, and a deep responsibility, I think, to be an organ and a blade. But, learning to forgive ourselves and others because we have not chosen wisely is what makes us most human. We make horrible mistakes. It’s how we learn. We breathe love. It’s how we learn. And it is inevitable.