I've found myself feeling misery for Wordsworth

His love of nature, his declaration of the glory of what faces us each day

He was wrong: each day we are met with a smirk, a face that tells us that we mean NOTHING

But we know better: we are sparks of the divine essence. Better than that which brought us here!

For s Pascal said: we are reeds, but thinking reeds

We know that we are capable of being torn to shreds by the crimson had of God

Yet we love him, for we know that there is no other manner of existence capable of sustaining our emotional needs

Physical needs are easy: they come with shit, foot, and sex

But EMOTIONAL needs: that something else entirely

I need to know that my loves of Beethoven, Botticelli, Bruce Springsteen, and cats are

Loves shared by others. Because a life without communion is a life without interpersonal communion

.

And such a life is no life, and it's worth leaving