Talking in bed ought to be easiest,
Lying together there goes back so far,
An emblem of two people being honest.
Yet more and more time passes silently.
Outside, the wind’s incomplete unrest
Builds and disperses clouds in the sky,
And dark towns heap up on the horizon.
None of this cares for us. Nothing shows why
At this unique distance from isolation
It becomes still more difficult to find
Words at once true and kind,
Or not untrue and not unkind.
I owe my most popular post and biggest traffic day to Patrick Fitzgerald and his scooter. He doesn’t talk much, but his silly smile and brilliance, as well as his utter disregard for whatever anyone else thinks in pursuit of what he thought was “right and true” earned him my admiration.
Now the Washington Post via the WSJ Law Blog reports he will be married. Good for him. But I am somewhat disappointed that he isn’t marrying someone his own age. Well, I suppose in so many ways he is better than the majority of men, but in the most basic way he is like any other man.