I fell in love with her,
she fell in love with ideas.
I told her I had read Nietzsche,
I told her I had read Nietzsche,
had climbed up ivy towers
and announced the death of God
out into the morning rain. Said
I had scrawled aphorisms
I had scrawled aphorisms
onto park benches in California,
planted trees in Montana
just because I knew they wouldn't survive.
Said I had once written
a poem vaguely about love,
but I quickly tore it up
and tossed it into the river,
not daring to hope
that the ink might one day reach the sea.
Cracked a half-moon smile, took her hand,
walked out onto the portico. Thought
we'd better do this quickly, before she remembers
that I promised I'd join her in dying alone.
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