PunchDrunkLover

Seventeen syllables
Opened the door
To memory, to meaning.

In a haiku, the number of syllables in any one line is optional, but the sum total of the three lines must always be seventeen.

Unpacking. Repacking. Packing.
Seeing you and you--
and all alike.

Waiting and writing.
Soon your car will come.
And, soon, you'll be in my arms.

And a man said, Speak to us of Self-Knowledge.
     And he answered, saying:
     Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
     But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's knowledge.
     You would know in words that which you have always known in thought.
     You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.

     And it is well you should.
     The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
     And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
     But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
     And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
     For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

. .
.

     Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
     Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."
     For the soul walks upon all paths.
     The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
     The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.

~

An "I-thou" from an "I-it" as Buber will have us believe?
Deliver this unto me that I might make of us a temple with our words as prayer, our bodies as an altar, and our thoughts an illumination.

Enlighten my soul that she may find her life and joy in thee, until, transported out of herself by the excess of her happiness, she binds herself to thee with all her powers and in all her motions.

You know what's going to happen now.
You should admit your situation--there would be more dignity in it.
If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?

Have you come to exhibit a particularly Jersey malaise--the inextinguishable longing for elsewheres?

Carmine,

How am I supposed to feel? So many things you've told me that I did not expect. I did not expect you to be leaving my side so soon. I did not expect you to tell me you were not ready for a serious relationship. I did not expect you to say you were not in love with me anymore. Anymore? Was it anymore? Or ever? I'm not sure I even know now, I've tried so hard to block this from my mind, it all blurs together, and I'm too afraid of the subject to even beg the clarification of you. What am I supposed to do when you say such things to me? How am I supposed to react? Who am I supposed to go to when I'm upset about you? Who do I have left to trust?
I think
The more I think, the more I become so terribly upset. The more I lose my faith in this world that has shown me nothing but spite (even the honey it's let drip on occasion has been bittersweet--or rotted).
I find myself staying up late long after you're gone and safe and sleeping in bed.
Thinking
Trying not to think
Every day I take my half of the stone and I wish for you to change your mind; to love me; to stay--just a bit longer than I expect. Every day I have less hope than before.

Please--don't do this. I don't know what it is you're doing, but I can feel it and please, don't. You were and are my last faith in living. You were the one who proved my cynicism wrong. Now I'm not certain you have even done that. Please--Do.

Always yours,
Asher