Happiness, not in another place but this place…not for another hour, but this hour. ~ Walt Whitman

“Go to Hell!” he’d yell.
“I live there!” I’d answer,
a refrain, well rehearsed,
believed. Owned.
Time passed. Separation,
return, some kind of truce.
The place is not Hell,
the relationship not hopeless.
I can live in this place.
When I long for other places,
other times, other circumstances
I gain only discontent.
When I accept this place, this time,
I find I, too, am accepted.