I had some disconcerting news today, and I haven't really told anyone about it, except for my family. It's one of those things where I need some time to think about it and let it sink in before I can really talk about it. The More Loving One by W.H. Auden is my favorite poem. I particularly identify with the last stanza, because it suggests to me that a person can adjust to almost anything. In a way, it's scary to believe that. But I think it's true.
The More Loving One
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
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