Passion made me its marker
Of swells and sighs divided
Regret the tenderest heresy
And each pulse, a watershed
And yet no arcing, tumbling,
Glittering thing of mine
Could rival hers; I remember
That frisson of the empty sky
That cry from below
Of heart and soul and mind
My summers sleep in amber
And to look at them
Is to remember
~
Elizabeth Cook, 2016. Image from Hyouka.
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After reading the first two lines, I kept coming back to the idea of passion dividing the self.
It does have a knack for doing that 😉