The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

I remember her words, she whom I am no longer friends with: Some people just take a little longer to find happiness.

Posted in oui |


Things were tremendously complicated, to be sure, but one thing was clear: no one needed me.

– Haruki Murakami

Posted in oui |


It is almost always regret with them.

“I never met anyone like you… It scares me. I wish…”

Long ago
His right hand was on the steering wheel; his left grasping hers. It was night. The hum of the car was the only sound in the background.

“Remember what I told you when we first got to know each other?” she piped up.


“I warned you not to fall in love with me.”

There was a long pregnant silence as he turned her words over in his mind. She stared out unblinkingly at the lights blurring past her as he sped towards her home.

“I didn’t fall in love with you,” he said quietly.

“I grew in love with you.”

8 years on, he still is.

Posted in non |