Coming to terms: a journal in parts

"I choose a color and it connotes sadness./ But how long must the symbols remain true? Blue/ is blue, not lonely. After a time, one gives up/ reading the sky for shadows, even rain./ There is no promise, only a possibility./ A moment moves to another, and still it feels/ the same./ -Joel Toledo, "Attachments" ************************************************** *The awareness--or belief, if you will--that everything is transitory: is it a blessing or a curse? This lack of faith in the faithfulness of things lends a cynicism that, yes, gets shaken from time to time, yet stays, always rooted, a habit of years that veers the heart away from believing that there is value in the things that one does, in the people one has known and knows. The mind trembles under the very sun of hope. Despair is a constant. It is one yardstick with which existence is measured. Happiness becomes a stranger whom one welcomes but does not allow too close, because parting is always imminent, parting must be inevitable.