He bought me breakfast in bed.
We made love, and it was lovely.
And I was dreaming about that sentence:
" I am tenderly lucky," and how light and
all everything it was. I got up to put it
down on this blog. Just the title. And he
walks in. He starts to talk to me and then
I ask him if he could let me be for 5 minutes
to do this. He speaks only French. I can't think
in English if he is speaking French to me. And so
he belittles the blog with one sentence. Knowing
that I am not writing poetry right now because we
have a house that we are building. Knowing that it
is rare indeed that I write at all.
But he just can't shut his mouth.
In my heart I know he is good.
In my heart I know he is mean, as well.
I am a sensitive girl.
Now what was going to be an interesting and
joyful blogpost, is a shitty blog post.