If I rest, if I think inward, I go mad. There is so much, and I am torn in different directions, pulled thin, taut against horizons too distant for me to reach.
I was trying to show how everyone has their own kind of wide, open forest in their heart. I wanted to explain how, even though the world outside is of course beautiful, the forest in your heartβthis beautiful, peaceful place inside youβcan grow.
My brother used to ask the birds to forgive him; that sounds senseless but it is right; for all is like the ocean, all things flow and touch each other; a disturbance in one place is felt at the other end of the world.
I always have such need to merely talk to you. Even when I have nothing to talk about β with you I just seem to go right ahead and sort of invent it. I invent it for you. Because I never seem to run out of tenderness for you and because I need to feel you near.
Tonight I feel that my love for you has more density in the world than I do, myself: as though it could linger on after me and surround you, keep you, hold you. I hate to think of you waiting.