The poetry of the 22-23 year old me. Pining for someone I could not have anymore. When I write my memoirs, that will be an interesting chapter. Until then, look on my works ye mighty and despair!
Well, actually, I’m going through old papers, and getting rid of lots of stuff. When something is interesting enough, I save it for a paper scrapbook. When it feels like it needs to go on the website, well, here it is.
Things are good. The cat actually just came into the office here and meowed at me — I think to come to bed. So off to bed.
I must have no shame. Old love poetry? Yeesh.