"I know this much, is all," Franny said. "If you're a poet, you do something beautiful. I mean you're supposed to leave something beautiful after you get off the page and everything.The ones you're talking about don't leave a single, solitary thing beautiful. All that maybe the slightly better ones do is sort of get inside your head and leave something there, but just because they do, just because they know how to leave something, it doesn't have to be a poem, for heaven's sake. It may just be some kind of terribly fascinating, syntaxy droppings--excuse the expression. Like Manlius and Esposito and all those poor men."
~Salinger, Franny and Zooey

this beautiful world

(background: on my run sometimes I'll stop at favored park benches to look at the river/city especially at sundown. Tonight an adorable older man, with a bowtie, sat next to me. His opening line: My wife and I used to sit here nearly every night during the summer at about this time. we eventually got to the following; one of those perfect conversations with a perfect stranger that force you to fall in love with this perfect, even when it doesn't appear to be, world.)

Me: How did you know you were in love?
LovelyOlderMan: There was no other way to know Her. But I think I loved her before I ever even knew I did.
M: Did you ever believe you were in love before?
LOM: I thought I was in love with another. Kind, Sweet, very Pretty--the whole nine yards; we were supposed to get married. Then I saw Her cry.
M:
LOM: I never knew my heart could break so much or hurt so badly.
M:
LOM: 55 years and She stops my heart everytime. (chuckle) and she knows it. I'm wrapped around her little finger. (smile) but I get to hold it too, so it's ok.
M: Do you ever think what if you had stayed with the other girl?
LOM: My life might have been a lot simpler (chuckle). But then... She brings...she brought... Beauty to...everything. No. There would have been no life without Her. No...no life at all.

(maybe it's corny... maybe he's a crazy old man who made the entire thing up. or maybe he just belonged to a different time when life was... just lovelier. Either way, he was wonderful and that moment will remain perfect in my mind forever)

just illusions
there was a point in my insanity when i deeply believed you loved me. it was a test i had failed. the thing is i knew you didn't. but i had to believe. for me. it was great. great. it's an awful word. it's an ugly word. appearance wise. great. awful. it grates on your teeth like a first grade teacher who patronizes you with those little colorful stickers you are supposed to treasure and place on the inside cover of your notebook. everyone knows it was only the scented ones that mattered at all. but the non recieved their place and forced love as well. it's a joke. a trip. being a kid. pretending to be a kid when all you wanted to do was give the sticker to the giggly girl next to you and tell her that she clearly needed it more. unless it was something orginal, something creative. not words or facts memorized but i story released from your own heart and appreciated by another's ears. then a sticker was golden. only if from one respected. otherwise the preference would easily be a confused smile. that look like they couldn't tell just what to make of it. or you. that was worth a hundred stickers. a thousand. my entire childhood. you gave me that crooked smile. then you walked away. but there was pain there, with the accustomed thrill. maybe i had wanted you to. you know, read me between the lines. or maybe i just believed i did. it's just an illusion. it doesn't mean anything. just little pieces of adhesive paper, once in awhile they simply smelled better--but it made your world.