Edna St. Vincent Millay

I know I am but summer to your heart,
And not the full four seasons of the year;
And you must welcome from another part
Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear.
No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell
Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing;
And I have loved you all too long and well
To carry still the high sweet breast of spring.

Wherefore I say: O love, as summer goes,
I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums,
That you may hail anew the bird and rose
When I come back to you, as summer comes.
Else will you seek, at some not distant time,
Even your summer in another clime.

*

Fluorescent lamps clouded her judgment. Curled up in a fetal position, lying naked on the bathroom floor. My God is dead, she says. But she's praying. Crying and praying fervently.

What would you give for the pain to end?

Teach me how to feel a little less.

Teach me how to love a little less.