Millay

I have been reading Edna St. Vincent Millay, a devastatingly excellent poet, who makes me realize how critical specificity and sincerity are.  I don't mean the Hallmark card-esque smarm that makes every emotion valid since it is artistically presented on cardstock.  I mean the clear-eyed stepping out into the truth when you know there's no net under you and your friends are standing on the sidelines, looking around like you are no one special, and your lover is suddenly uninterested in your conversations, continually leading you to something that will distract you from what you want to say...

Lately it has become evident that I allow things to happen that I don't always endorse.  And in trying to stem the tide, emotions are sometimes involved, strong ones, people's hearts and plans.  Even mine.  But when I don't stand up in the river of whatever I'm caught up in and tell the truth, I loathe myself.  I feel dirty and can't wash the feeling off.  

It is very hard to be completely honest when you love someone.  The margin between love and power is like a pie crust.  I think the key is letting go of the outcome, letting go of the power, remembering the beauty of that person and how they have blessed your life.