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January 24 - January 24, 2024
I got to thinking that poems were like people. Some people you got right off the bat. Some people you just didn’t get—and never would get.
That afternoon, I learned two new words. “Inscrutable.” And “friend.” Words were different when they lived inside of you.
“It’s a sad book,” I said. “Yeah. That’s why you like it.” “Yeah,” I said. “That’s exactly right.”