#perfecting

He waited a few more seconds, hoping her tight jaw would unclench and she’d ask him to stay, but she sat staring down the empty track. There was nothing for him to do but walk away. The drum of his boot heels as he left Amanda and Lydia behind sounded like the clang of the door slamming shut on his prison cell in Lexington. Each step away from them felt like a year added to his sentence. Spence only walked about a hundred yards before he stopped. His chest ached so much he could hardly draw breath. He couldn’t do this. He looked back over his shoulder at Amanda sitting on the bench. She held Lydia on her lap facing her, resting against her arms and looking up into her face. They were involved in an intimate, one-sided conversation. He stood and stared. He couldn’t leave them, but Amanda had made it clear she didn’t want him. God, he would give anything if he could go back and change the way they’d met. But how could he have done things differently and still have met Amanda? If he hadn’t pretended to be Travis Baxter that day at the station, she never would’ve spoken to him at all. Spence couldn’t regret what he’d done nor could he condone it. It was a double-edged sword. ↗

— Bonnie Dee

#bonnie-dee #perfecting-amanda #spencer #change

The poem is a form of texting... it's the original text. It's a perfecting of a feeling in language - it's a way of saying more with less, just as texting is. ↗

— Carol Ann Duffy

#form #just #language #less #more

I am among the few who continue to draw after childhood is ended, continuing and perfecting childhood drawing - without the traditional interruption of academic training. ↗

— Saul Steinberg

#after #am #among #childhood #continue

The Way is basically perfect. It doesn't require perfecting. ↗

— Bodhidharma

#perfect #perfecting #require #way