I read this poem earlier this week on this site, and it’s been in my head ever since:

Flood

I woke to a voice within the room. perhaps.
The room itself: “You’re wasting this life
expecting disappointment.”
I packed my bag in the night
and peered in its leather belly
to count the essentials.
Nothing is essential.
To the east, the flood has begun.
Men call to each other on the water
for the comfort of voices.
Love surprises us.
It ends.

—Eliza Griswold

I keep returning to the same line, over and over: “You’re wasting this life, expecting disappointment.”

Wise words, and ones I keep turning over and over in my mind this afternoon.

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