I've done well, my love, to stay away from the hotel,
until the other morning. Heartsick and betrayed,
I sat staring (with an eerily calm serenity)
at the mundane structure
where we had spent so many lustful nights.
Waking from sleep's sweet envelope
next to the strongest,
most tender man,
I have ever known.
Vulnerable in his embrace,
falling into the vacuum of his seclusive nature.
Deflecting his bad temperament with my casual grace.
I found a common ally:
a best friend for 3 simple stupid succulent months.
Until I came to a pivotal conclusion.
You cannot make someone love you,
but you can make them want to;
which, to me, is better than having their love.
I would rather the will be there
because will is hope,
hope is potential, and potential exists—
in the land where promises are kept alive.
I curse many things about myself,
except for the utter compulsion to feel alive.
When love happens, there is a bending of the will—
an intolerable surrender where everything breaks:
hearts, promises, hope.
s./j. goldner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-argument-against-having-and-wanting/
