I know I’m kinda crazy. I get afraid and say stupid crap. I worry too much and illogically fear losing you although you’ve never given me a single reason to. I care for you beyond explanation and need you beyond logic. You love is like oxygen to me. C.B.
What most people call loving consists
of picking out a woman and marrying her.
They pick her out, I swear, I’ve seen them.
As if you could pick in love,
as if it were not a lightning bolt
that splits your bones
and leaves you staked out
in the middle of the courtyard.
You don’t pick out the rain
that soaks you to a skin
when you come out of a concert.