necessary and sufficient
It’s not necessary to know how to make soup in order to be pure in heart. But if you do know how it means you definitely are–because what are poets for if they can’t pronounce the truth? What’s a poem for if you can’t use it to prove you’re pure in heart, or that you’re alive or beautiful or hurting or really just human?
I’m never happy when Lucy’s not happy, and I’m pretty sure I can’t make a good soup either. Anyway I was being mostly quiet, because I’m not happy with the words. I keep going back to these old philosophers and logic books and theologians and it feels like I’m just being pedantic, and that’s not helpful to anyone. I want to be helpful.
For everything I say about autumn it never lasts long enough. The cold seems to be coming and I almost just said the winter is really here. One day I’m going to come home and Lucy will have made some good soup and I just know I’ll find a new reason to love the winter all over again.