Realism absorbs the ideal by adding a few small imperfections. Example: it paints a few specks of mud on the white gown of the Lady in the Garden.
Guilt agonizes over trifles, ignores habitual wrongdoing.
Nostalgia keeps dissolving the ironic narratives in which I have contained my past.
Lovers remain in the dark, working hard to keep out daylight.
Helplessness is a mighty power.
It is not confused. We are.