Sadness nests in my heart
dove-like in its softness, gentle and
inexplicably heavy.
Madrid in summer. The Retiro’s birds chirp
arias
Sunshine slants through leaves
too beautiful to be compared to jade,
or silver coins,
too lovely in their motion to be
like a painting.
I think I know what paradise looks like,
now.
For this reason, if for no other, I will try
not to linger. I wonder if I
will ever learn
to say goodbye.
L. H. Cole 
Ahh. Some would prefer to linger in such a beautiful spot. I am reminded of a book I read too long ago to remember the title: a group of people leave Earth to go to a new planet. Half the group will go to the jungle part, and half (artists) to the Live in Complete Ease part. On the trip to the planet, the protagonist falls in love with a woman who will go to the jungle, but he is assigned to the Easy life. Thus his Easy life is wracked with wanting to be with her and worrying about her, so his art reflects his anguish while the art of all the others in the Easy life is banal. He escapes to the jungle. On purpose. Aware of what he is doing.
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