When I was young, longing was a weakness – a character flaw.  One would sooner express anything embarrassing, than admit to any kind of longing.

Instead we admitted nothing,  closed our eyes in the dark, and listened to the poetry and music of longing much of it created by those who felt  the  “love that dared not speak its name”.   No matter – it spoke to all longing hearts.

I hid my yearning in a diary.  And smiled a lot.

The powerlessness of youth.

Now, with graying  hair, I still smile a lot.

But  yearn much less, and feel so powerful —

Compared to those naïve days

Before the ‘revolution’….