He wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He was never all-in. But yes, we are still friends, sort of... but that's a poem for another time.
All attempts at truth are doomed to failure here... And the age of saints is necessary, yes, but what of the saints themselves?
You were never my destiny perhaps, but for days I lay with you, and your love made revelations beyond any marriage or long-term commitment.
I want to be the final card in the spread, one that jumped, waiting at the footnotes like a vague decree. Sacred messenger, master of none.
The next time you realize that you have been drawn, dragged, danced into the underworld, remember, this is the oldest ceremony.
Serve basket of warm naan next to clay pot of spicy curry... Arrange wildflowers on pagewith light angling in from outside.