You were hoping for the best, fearing the worst.
Perhaps a job, a yes from Match.com, a lab report .
You get bad news.
You try The Advice:
try to fix the problem;
accept what you can’t;
take a baby step forward.
It’s right but it still hurts.
And really, no one cares that much—even those who feign to.
It’s mainly on you, maybe all on you.
So, depending on your genes, you mope or seethe.
Meanwhile you try to rise by trying The Advice again,
and maybe again.
And it may work.
In the end, nothing works. We die.
But for now, we must accept that The Advice is all there is.
Oh, there is love:
the snippets of cosmic intimacy,
but still worthy,
maybe more worthy.
How central is love?
It depends on who you are.