I grabbed her and pulled her into my arms, kissing her passionately. "I missed you!" I said. "I thought..." I chuckled. "Never mind. i'm glad your back."
Johnathon:
I laughed and drove us home. I jumped out of the car and yanked Liz's door open, blushing.
The idea that a poem was a made thing stayed with me, and I decided then that I wanted to be an artist, not just a diarist. So I put myself through a kind of apprenticeship in writing poetry, and I understood even then that my practice as a poet was deeply related to my reading. — Edward Hirsch