In praise of things not yet seen. In deference to things not yet made.
In calculation of things not yet reasoned with.
It all comes down to the the science of when a Popsicle melts; it can’t be put back on that wooden stick. So face it: She does not love you. She never did. She was sticky and cold and sweet. And now she’s gone.

Instead of chewing on that tiny wooden slat, join an exercise boot camp, rub penny royal on yourself as you head into the woods with your exercise equipment. Remain determined to oversee this latest heartbreak with flair and and sweat. Stretch, warm up, feel the intense protest of your leg muscles as you squat your sense of freedom, amount yourself to movement in rhythmic intervals until you are exhausted, then crawl out of the woods, and treat yourself to fine food and wine. Burp escargot, spoon up polenta where you find it.

Vogue. Vogue. Vogue.