On He(art)break

It seems that I am frequently torn between needing to forget and clawing at the memories. What a stressful predicament it is, though it helps to be here, to create this art. It helps, but it is not enough. I love you, poetry, but you are not enough. And I think that I’m on the brink of something. I think that I need and the world needs an new art, an impossible one. One in which we can simultaneously forget him and remember with bliss the way that we loved so foolishly. One in which we can curse his name enough to regain sanity without forgetting the sea that used to escape his eyes. We have a habit of always forgetting and never appreciating, and this new art is to help us do both. And to keep us also from the combustion that is the less common, more destructive case. I was too hesitant to forget, too quick to appreciate. I began to self-destruct


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