“brown-eyed boy meets a blue-eyed girl
you can sew it up, but you still see the tear
baby’s got blue skies, but in this i’m a raincloud;
ours is a stormy kind of love
oh, oh…the sweetest thing” — bono
never one for timing: when i’ve finally figured out exactly what i want; she no longer does.
the nice thing about sewing it up, but still seeing the tear is the same as a poem: a poem is still pretty even once you rip it from the notebook and have all the ruffled edges on the side of the page. love may be fickle and even fragile, but it’s forever; wrinkles, tears, and smudges do nothing to the poem’s impact when you remember its lines.