“What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.”—Edna St. Vincent Millay, Sonnet XLIII
I really don’t care about sports the other three years of my life, so why does it seem everyone wants me to get it up for the Olympics? There are so many more interesting things to do/ see/ discuss. Also, while I enjoy participating in sports, I dislike watching them. It’s like watching somebody else read—it’s something I would so much rather be doing than watching.