You can only talk so much about things that are never, ever going to happen. My brother¡¯s at home with his dog and his cat and his wife is at a friend¡¯s. You can only go on so long about feelings that never, ever actually touch you. No matter how much she told him ¡°I love you,¡± he found it would depend on the gifts that he bought her, or how badly she was hurt when the boss was cruel at work. But he¡¯d just say ¡°I love you,¡± and he¡¯d reach out to her. He was feeling like shit when I came to visit and walked through the door of his tiny apartment. We went for a walk through the park by the market so we could get some air. And I told to him all things intended to help him, especially that, simply because it was ending, that that didn¡¯t mean she was always pretending. Real happiness was there. I could see and I could tell: it was real love that they felt. And I¡¯m sorry it didn¡¯t end well, but some things just don¡¯t - that¡¯s life, and you shouldn¡¯t blame yourself. And all of these things, well, I truly believe them. Our paths and our futures are hidden in mists that are stretching out over impossible distances, totally obscured. And I really do think that there¡¯s probably more good than anger or selfishness, sickness, or sadness would ever completely allow us to have in this life, I think I¡¯m sure. But that doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s bad. We were walking towards our dad, while getting out of that school bus, and he just said ¡°I love you,¡± and he reached out
|
|
-----------------
|
Yellow
|
| Okkervil River |
