Tenderness Kundera says tenderness is 'the fear instilled by adulthood' and 'a tiny artificial space in which it is mutually agreed that we would treat each other as children' I live in that artificial space. I do have the emotions of a child. I fall in love. I dive in love. Maybe I've learned to be more careful beforehand And to tentatively dip a toe in first And maybe I've gotten better at guessing what's slithering underneath Maybe I try to remind myself that I can make my way back to the shore But I don't believe that anyone can love pragmatically. I don't believe a person can enter that artificial space without forgetting-- without Aristotle's willing suspension of disbelief I don't believe that I can organize all the different surges of violence ripping through my chest without quieting the screams And what kind of human person never screams? I don't believe in reasoning my way into faith and I don't believe in reasoning my way into love A woman told me the other day-- don't tie up your beliefs with a person I understand what she meant-- but I remembered something my best friend told me when I felt broken I told her I didn't want to trust people-- and that maybe all these grand fairytale feelings aren't anything more than ideals I told her I had resolved to love make-believe And to relegate all my principles to dusty print and the dark abstract world in the back of my head To the place I run to She said-- Faith is what we do-- And that the only prayers are acts of love, thoughts of love She told me that heaven as well as hell is other people
Apart from all the stupid awkward sobering things that get in the way You know how they say you should keep bad dreams to yourself? I hate that I think it makes them powerful And I think it's mean to tell someone who's scared to shut up |