I set eyes on this for the first time last night; on reading it I can’t, for the life of me, shift the mental image of Ten standing on that beach staring down the reality of what a Rose-less existence will do to him.
The last line of this hurts.
Derek Walcott
The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved
past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss.
Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.