(Source: fiore-rosso / Phoria -)
In the motel room
that night, in the early morning hours,
he opened a curtain. Saw clouds
banked against the moon. He leaned
closer to the glass. Cold air passed
through and put its hand over his heart.
I loved you, he thought.
Loved you well.
Before loving you no longer.
—Raymond Carver, closing strophe to “Where They’d Lived,” All Of Us: the Collected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 1998)
The Radio Dept. - The Worst Taste In Music