The Great Spirit should not have made me a Romantic. To stand and persevere beyond the death of my Mother, only to be felled by the face of a little girl or the embrace of a young man, seems a cruel twist. Such small things. Such small things.
Longing and yearning are words for Poets. They should have no place in my life. I've lived where there is hardship and struggle. Lived in the pain of loss and have made the most out of the dark. Content to finally be getting by. To finally being okay. And now, the profound sense of something missing.
Not everyone gets to have more. To put a desire in the heart, that cannot be had - a dinner of nails and glass would be better digested.
Children and travel and a man full of love, is a request the Universe cannot always grant. To align stars and time and fate is not easily accomplished. Yet the Great Spirit makes me a Romantic regardless, to yearn and to long with the Poets, to have a desire of the heart.
Feed me a second then, I should exclaim. Of Nails and of Glass. And all the good fortune to find what one seeks.
"Love, and do what you like. "