Even Though

I. Night Wind, tires, and motors drone through the night in three dimensions. I’m behind windows, worn down, wondering whether anyone is loved as he wishes to be loved. II. Morning I can live by myself—eat, breathe, bathe, shave, dress, wash the dishes, concern myself with practical things. I sit in the sun with the paper and wait for the kettle to sing like a bird— the water is boiled; time to make my tea. Over breakfast, instead of talk, I can read a book. I have lots to do, a lot to think about. And, even though I don’t always get along happily, I can love myself—more than I can say. 16 May 1984

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