She who did not come, wasn’t she determinednonetheless to organize and decorate my heart?
If we had to exist to become the one we love,
what would the heart have to create?
Lovely joy left blank, perhaps you are
the center of all my labors and my loves.
If I’ve wept for you so much, it’s because
I preferred you among so many outlined joys.
— Rainer Maria Rilke (1875 - 1926)
Was reminded of this poem a few times this week - walking with BF in the nurseries and talking about "falling short of certainty", with a colleague about "searching all over again for hope", with thePensiveOne about uber G gal, and generally thinking about "incomplete joy" in the here-and-now.
We know who left the blank. Looking forward to it being filled finally.
We know who left the blank. Looking forward to it being filled finally.
