Musing

You're no Helen Mirren.

I'm no Penelope Cruz.

We don't judge each other like that.

But nor am I a Mother Teresa

No earthly martyr. No pale saint

Though pale enough, no doubt.

So I do fall short to you.

And your short falling makes me adore you more.

It's hard.


Your life funiculates your face and I wouldn't rid you of a single year.

Anemochral tide swept me to you.