Charles Courtney Curran - Metropolitan Opera’s Opening Night (detail)

I respect moon's unwillingness to be photographed on a phone

Daytime Moon by Andrew McCarthy

May 30, 2024 7:42PM

Well Loved

I am learning to like my books

“Well loved”

I used to think a book was sacred

Don’t hurt the pages,

Don’t mark them

Don’t leave a book mark in them too long

You’ll damage them

But these stories become a part of you

You yourself, are marked

The pages of your story is dog eared

And jagged

“Damaged”

The book marks of your past left in too long

So you can always flip back to that page you once read

And remember

How you felt, what you saw, what you heard

Books are little lives you have

A separate story you get to be part of

Aside from your own

An escape

Books bleed, booring love

longing,

devastation in their pages

You have felt these things too

Your life is lived in

Well worn,

Well loved,

I still do not dog ear my pages, that’s what book marks are for

But I will write little notes in the margins

And underline those important things that are said

I’ll make sure to highlight something that means something to me

Because isn’t that what I once did?

With my own memories

My own heart is bookmarked

My own story, written in and adorned

The pages of my book not yet finished and yet still worn from me rereading the same passages over

And over

And over

Your life might be “damaged”, pages torn out, water marks from tears you once shed, spine bent from long days of use.

But you, much like a good book, are just a well read story, from cover to cover

Just, well loved.

Schneeweisschen by Florian Herold

Spin Cycle. Oil on canvas, 8 x 10"

did the dinosaurs look at the meteor and thought "how pretty"?

Anne Michaels, from Skin Divers: Poems; "Ice House," originally published in 1999

I think she waited just for us

6/25/24 10:30am

Mid-morning stretches, the world waking,

but the moon waits, patient,

a silver sentinel in the sky.

You tell me you see her too.

Miles dissolve in that moment,

as we sit apart yet together,

eyes lifted, hearts bound

by the moon’s gentle persistence.

She is beautiful, you say,

and in that beauty, we find a connection.

No words needed, just the understanding

that for now, the moon is ours.

who up experiencing emotions they can talk to no one about