My Rav doesn't understand about my bartender. I haven't ever had the chance to tell him this, but I think G-d draws me to this young man. I think She wants me to tell him something.
Intimate sharing is wonderful to a point, but dangerous and even bone-chilling beyond that point. The implications are deep and potentially mystical.
She was what was known as a bad girl and I was a goody-two-shoes...
A poem that squeezes humor and even transcendence out of my obsessiveness, ineptitude, and rotten choices. I'm guessing many can relate in various ways.
A series of dilemmas, for readers and for me, that reach towards profound questions of ultimate meaning.
I miss the days when friends and family members truly opened up about their insecurities, failures, and deep thoughts. Yes, you're adults now, but you can still share your souls.
The group I imagined was splendid. But since when is something that seems wondrous actually wondrous and not, you know, a cult, or whatever?
Other people delight me even as they scare me.