Guess what? More poetry! Not mine this time, so you can breathe a sigh of relief. Here's what I've had on the brain today.
"A Dream Deferred" by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
(Also, as an aside, you wanna know one of the more annoying things about me? I always know whether a title should be underlined or in quotation marks, and I always insist upon doing it correctly. Seventh grade English, I think.)
(Also also, are the Belgians especially known for their linens? I booked a hotel in NYC today and they made a big deal over the fact that they have Belgian linens.)