Wondrous

In this wondrous time when we are in love, who could have imagined anything so fulfilling, such an imaginative way to spend our summer together?

The want that I experience from time to time, in this existence so solitary, would be, could be consumed with someone like her, someone special like her. I might just have to pinch myself a time or two, perhaps on a daily basis, until she asks why the black and blue marks seem to be growing like poppies along the shore? Their paper-like petals scattering in the ocean breeze, while my eyes reflect the patterns of the waves upon her skin.

Having her grace my house, my home in the same amount of time that it usually is so deathly quiet without her. The usual sound of the clock ticking, while the waves crash in the background as opposed to how she decorated the windows with flowers, scented and seashells, colorful. I might just sit outside on any well-worn chair, brushing off the sand in its relentless efforts to wear away everything that I had built, what I had constructed trying to make my name as one that is known, one that is wanted.

As she raised the sash of the window nearest me, her humming becoming known with a song long forgotten, now revived as if it were on my lips singing, just yesterday? Was it only yesterday, when we last loved with one another? Was it just a random thought that grazed my memory on its way towards something else, or did I just dream that she and I once were, how we once were?

Sitting in this chair, known to me with the feeling wanted and cherished. Sitting across from her while the wine glasses were filled then emptied again, while the day grew into night flowers, with the moths clinging to the flame, the one burning bright in my heart. My lonely heart. We’d tossed our cellphones in a box by the door, promising one another not to be concerned with the ways of the outside world while we were together. The endless distractions and temptations that entice with something other than what we should be spending our time on, what we should be concentrating our love on.

As the night grew older, we began to blow out the candles, one by one as if to equal the darkness in its right to be dark. The time for light needing in this otherwise bright and inviting summer landscape, told us that we should embrace the darkness, and sounds of the waves unseen. My mind might just take a dip in the sea, while the waves crashed about me, not allowing me to see, nor feel the danger of its darkness, but calling me thus, just calling me.

The warmer hues of the sunset over the water caused her to move a bit closer to the warmth of my intentions. We need not ask, nor wonder if what we did was right, or wrong, because it all seemed so natural. As natural as if we always had been together, and not just a summer’s walk down the beach, stopping to gather a shell or two, reaching down at the same time, wanting the same thing. Wanting the very same thing it seems.

It seemed funny to me that so few words could pass between us, though we knew what we wanted, what we needed at that time. Our own difficulties with other days and other people could not be solved while we were together, so why include them in our time together? We would of course be there for one another, but sometimes it was better to withstand the forces that wanted access to our lives, wanted to interrupt the peace and solitude that encompassed our very being, our way towards a purer way of thinking.

Today being at its end, with nary a thought back to how or why it began as such. I felt that no evil could touch us as long as we existed in the time frame called “us” and resigned myself to hold onto it as long as it were in my power to do so!

Something wondrous is happening, without having to explain that much about it, or worry why at this time in my life it is occurring? Accepting things as they are, being the best recourse this summer. At my house at the sea…….

 

Advertisements

The Love, My Life

I wouldn’t want to promise her more than I would be allowed to keep, but I thought all the same, the best opportunity to tell her of my feelings should be now, before it was too late.

The thoughts we shared together were those of intimacy and hope, but not always would she accept my original premise that she deserved such things. She would deny the existence of anything that was beautiful and invigorating, especially if her name was associated with, or included in the same breath professing of such wonders. She’d tell me that the way that her thoughts were constructed, prevented her from thinking the same as I, but my inner hope continued to burn bright all the same.

We started off by observing the Sea Birds as they fought and followed each other, for food and each other, while we just looked passively at how others dealt with this life at hand. She might just give my hand a squeeze if it found it, while we walked, making me turn my immediate attention towards her, and imparting a smile, that I wasn’t using at that moment, most likely saving it for a better time later on.

We then allowed the sun to shine upon our faces, while the wind blew our thoughts about, how our cares did exit the scene, without noise or boisterous behavior, allowing us a quiet moment to ourselves.

I asked her,”Do you love me dear?” though I admit to those thoughts merely existing in my mind, while I hoped, she would, could read my thoughts making things so much easier for the two of us, when the time finally came to admit our feelings for each other, openly and honestly. I tried to read her reply by the way she smiled, or how she looked off into the future with me by her side. Instead there was a trace of sadness, of melancholy that stifled my positive thoughts and hope making a future together with her.

“You can’t change me” she told me, “though you think you can alter my thoughts into what makes you happy, what gives you joy!”

I was selfish in thinking that she felt the same as I. I wanted to lash out at her, telling her, demanding to know why she couldn’t accept what I was offering, while it just seemed so damned easy, just so utterly easy to be as one.

The next day dawned brighter than the first, though her thoughts seemed to be increasingly troubled as the day grew older. Her morning smile, changed to her late-afternoon mood that pulled the rug from beneath my feet, and told my heart in no uncertain terms, that we were not destined to love together. Just not written in the stars, or seen in each other’s eyes. Not quite good enough to tell the neighbors, or print an article in the local news, proclaiming what other lovers had done before, telling the world how great it is to be alive, how grand it is having found someone.

I’d just sit behind her, clasping my arms about her, telling her that our silence was a sign of better things to come, while I felt her pull away, the closer that I came.

“Don’t” she’d say, or, “We’d better not, because” but there was never an explanation as to why, or who she would rather be spending time with, someone who held her in greater esteem or respect than I, just someone I couldn’t get along with.

The days grew longer as the nights grew shorter. No longer did I hope or dream about lying in her arms those nights, wanting instead to walk with her along the coast, the redeeming waters of her salvation, the sand pressing down as we lie, wanting our silence to tell us stories about how we finally could and would be together!

I just closed my eyes accepting the grace of the sun, while she drifted out of my life for good. No longer could we tell ourselves those lies about being together, while we knew somehow, we were destined for greater things, just not together. Just not with you my love. Just not with you.

My love. My life. My time with you being so precious, regardless of its ending, or of its beginnings. We never really ever parted company, did we? We still are together in our thoughts, just as strongly as when we first considered each other from afar.

Just a random thought. Just a fleeting moment, when we looked into each other’s eyes. Just a thought about sharing something special, as long as it lasted, or as brief as the gentle breezes, that danced around our memories, telling us something, whispering something that we really wanted to hear.

What I wanted to believe in, while the place next to me, was barren and silent, while my own thoughts waltzed a bit, while my time on this planet, shortened a bit, while a part of me still yearned a bit for you my love.

My love.

 

Within the Limits of My Power

If it had been my choice in this life. If only it had been within the limits of my power to change her mind. If only, I had been strong enough, and resourceful enough to help her, when the times had gotten a bit too rough. A bit too much.

No one person can claim to be the master of others. Not in my book. Not in my way of thinking. I would be remiss in this life, hoping to extend my long arm of influence, a power smothering others like a blanket too heavy to be worn about oneself, when attempting to close the shutters, when the ensuing storm was neigh. When it was just outside my train of thought.

She had suffered a loss. One that affected her so greatly, that no one living being on this rock could help her. Not one of the billions of souls out there, just outside the confines of my house, seemingly ready to extend their arms if asked to, ready to accept her and her troubles as the troubles that we all experience. Those that we all call, life.

Not even my very thoughts. Not existing within the space, what I control, what I call my life, could replace the pain, she was feeling. Not even being able to move into her sphere of hurt, the bubble of protection, she had placed around herself, the corner to back into, the cave to hide in.

How do any of us work through the trials of this, some would call, our lives? How do we deal with each and every day, concealing our pain, the suffering in our souls, while painting a face of happiness and contentment, a picture for the rest of the world to see. How many of us want to care beyond the limit, when someone asks, “How is it going today?” Would the complete answer. The whole of the pain flowing out. The realization of hurt extending away from our present, into the future, where it will still exist. Where it will continue to exist.

They say that the grief. The loss will diminish in time. They say so many things, but what exactly do “they” know about losing someone you love? Why didn’t they say anything to me, when the end was near? I tried, though I couldn’t be at their side, when the last breaths of air they’d be taking on this planet, were being drawn. I just couldn’t finish that last cup of coffee while shooting the breeze with the pretty nurse at station 15. I was just admiring all of the flowers, others had sent you, when the end finally came.

Love in one of its fleeting moments, was getting harder to find. You looked around you, wondering why being in love with someone was so real, when the flick of the the switch on the wall brought light and hope, while the reverse only left you feeling empty and alone, as if you never had loved, or had been loved.

I was just standing there in the end, looking at her, a look of peace and serenity upon her face, while the ways of the world continued to grind and strive for the greater good. The call of money, the desire of being loved, or pulling the covers over our heads at night, hoping against hope, that tomorrow will dawn brighter than today.

Brighter with the warmth of the sun, with just a few clouds, those incessant clouds, just waiting in the wings. Again.

I Used to

I used to walk by her house, hoping she was at home. Not that it would make any difference, just the thought that’s all. Just the thought.

I’d make every excuse in the world to be there. I counted things. All things it seems. “Count your pretty smiles this month, Ma’am?” They must have been pretty, because everything else just wouldn’t do, would it now?

I knew the number of paving stone up to her steps. Then the steps, themselves. Then the paces to her front door, the number of times, I’d knock but the silence was the hardest knowing. From when it began, to when it ended. Taking along with it my hopes for that day, for that week repeated.

About the time of one year passing. Gone away. Head stone on the grave. Books with torn edges on the shelf. Dust collecting on the floor. I grew tired with my vigil and chose to leave well enough alone. I closed the door on that part of my life. Took the key. Locked the door of my heart and hoped that a Twister would take that house from me. From my memory, and hers. Just away that’s all.

Then one day, while I was in a random passing, I noticed a new coat of paint applied, taking the shine off its drabness and envisioning a dream it must have had, a long time ago, when the wood could bear your weight, and I hold my own to the others who tried to court your friendship, those who would your inner secrets want, telling them as if they had won a prize, taken, used, then tossed out for that carnival had left town, hadn’t it? No more teddy bears to sit in the window, no more chances to win the grand prize, for someone else had bought all chances, then discarded the tickets after taking you.

I was uncertain how to proceed. Did I want you as they, or were my intentions more noble, fading into what we could do, while the curtains flapped and I held you close, closer than anyone else had, but wanted to. They just wanted to. You told me to forget, and walk away, lest my thoughts had gotten poisoned by you. The way you had about you, wanting, taking, not for one minute making me believe you loved me. That you really did love me.

I stood on your porch that day. The one defining day, after the paint having dried again. When all of life seemed as fresh as if the rains had just passed us by, leaving behind that smell of freshness. Of renewal. Would you be the same? I wondered aloud, though my words were silent, when I tried to pick them up off the floor. I just looked at them in my hands, worn with the years and tears of getting you back. How I just wanted you back.

My knock on your door, hollow sounding, as if the inside walls had been removed. Just one big empty, waiting to be filled up with who you were, for better or worse, but having enough smarts to tell me to leave you. Just to seek what I imagined to be called love, the want of something lasting me a bit farther into the future, than what one afternoon, with the shades drawn, momentarily while the next suitor would stand on your porch, hat in hands, hoping against hope to win your fancy. Taking what you had to give, just don’t call it love, OK?

A new coat of paint does not a new house make, nor did it tell me anything new, tell me anything old. After a while, minutes turned hours, days on end, the calendar didn’t lie to me like you did. Though I wished it would have.

The paint wasn’t that new anyway. My memories tarnished tended to obscure the truth, or gloss over what I had hoped it to be. She was wise enough telling me, shouting when I said the word love, with her just mocking me. She just couldn’t let me down any other way, it seemed. Her final rejection sent and accepted, with tears in her eyes, unseen, while I just wondered where she’d gone this time?

What I used to do. What I did today. Did I really love her, or was it just an excuse to drive her away from me? She told me time and again, that love would not figure into it, no matter how much my heart lied to me, or how many times we held each other close and wanted. We just wanted something else without what words could define. Something that would have told her that here was the best place of the worst to be.

Just what I used to do, while my mind told me that she really did live in that house, and it wasn’t just an excuse for forgetting someone, whose name I was told to forget.

What she told me to forget…

Saving Myself

Never having been lovers with each other, presented itself with sighs of relief, spiced with the many untasted pangs of regret.

Saving myself for someone else, someone who has yet to show themself, tends to close certain doors behind me, not allowing others, who might have expressed an interest in me, to remain on their side of the fence.

I wouldn’t want to point any fingers, or live my life steeped in innuendo, but at times it seems, I’ve most likely had a few other instances, when happiness could have been mine. I still subscribe to the notion, the thought that in time, love fades. No matter how eternal it might seem, or how much we would have pledged our faith, in the fact, the apparent fact that we did love one another, and that was something that never could disappear, or be tainted by the less than likely.

Any set of variables, any instance of a hint of a faint smell of someone’s perfume, occurring at just the right moment, when I was caught unawares, when I might have had another thought in my head, when someone like you might have caught my attention, or brushed against me as we stood in a nearby line, waiting for the next train to come. You might even have turned to me, and smiled in a polite way, acknowledging the mere fact that we stood there, close enough to touch, in an absurd situation, just waiting for the train to make its grand entrance, thus separating us forever more.

I might have mentioned something about you, causing you to laugh at my joke, which set the whole avalanche started, which no person, place or thing, could have prevented happening from that moment on.

We might have exchanged glances, before the train lurched and started on its way, when we gave up our seats for the elderly and the pious, choosing instead of being bumped around, our bodies falling haplessly into each others, your perfume now residing on my coat with your lips so close to touch, that I almost lost my way in the mystery of your eyes.

That with we got off at the same stop, along the usual route that the train was in no way responsible for our actions, being stuck on the same set of tracks, moving to and fro into the future, which suddenly you had become a part of.

We walked hand in hand, as we journeyed away from the station, thus forgetting why what our original errand must have been, or if our significant other was waiting impatiently for us to come. “The police must be contacted, someone said. They have gone missing and I fear the worst.”

When we boarded the train in the opposite direction, our time together was drawing to a close. We knew the pain of separation never seemed to get any easier, but the thought of our random meeting, one chance in a lifetime, one that would most likely never come again, would bring us together once again, if only for a brief set of moments, not seen by others, but enjoyed to the fullest of our love for each other.

As I walked home again, I thought about my complacency, the mere fact of Saving Myself for that someone special. Not just anyone to give my heart to. To have and to hold from this day forward,

until the next train once again made its way into the station….

 

The Steepest Hill

I was fortunate not to have any steep hills hanging over my house. Unstable ocean floor material, which after eons of time, were thrust up over the surface, making the most likely building sites to crash into the sea, but first after someone had invested their life savings in the house of their dreams.

My house was tucked into the side of the small, sandy hills surrounding the coastline where I called home. The only danger was running out of sand to sweep off my floors, but that was not an immediate threat, nor one to bring down the value of my house, if that is I ever wanted to sell it.

How can anyone sell their life, their house, their home? How many memories would be left behind, lost to the next owners, busily making their own souvenirs, changing the paint, tearing down walls, removing scratches on the wall where I kept track of the last time that I saw her. The last time that we swore wouldn’t be the last time.

A part of me longed for a steep hill to climb. Someplace above my current existence, a bit closer to the clouds, sporting a Tower of Babel type of porch, where I could converse with the local passersby.

She never was one for steep places. Rather a roller coaster ride at the local fair, than having to close her eyes, and grip the railing lest she came closer to her imminent doom.  She worried so, when I was out and about hanging for my life from any sort of high cliffs located in her mind, or when the car got a bit too close to the edge of the road for close comfort.

I would just laugh and chide her,  mocking her apparent lack of willpower to hang over the edge of the roof, or stand on her high heels, after having had a bit too much to drink. She didn’t share my sense of humor in that case, which showed me that, which told me that if I wanted the night to travel in my direction, I shouldn’t try to derail her mood, before the train had even left the station.

We had a bit to eat, and too much to drink one night, when I suggested that we climb up to the top of our cottage, just to enjoy the stars in a different way. She was more than reluctant. She was downright nasty with my innocuous suggestion,  trying both to be brave about it, while clutching onto my arm for dear life.

The ladder to the attic was stable enough, as was the trapdoor to the roof. I positioned myself such that she couldn’t fall, neither in, nor out, which gave her a certain degree of confidence along the way. The wine had done its tricks, leaving me to think of other things than just the stars overhead, but I wasn’t certain that she had the same ideas as I?

The starry night presented itself in an ever so grand way. The waves crashing in the dark night on the one side of this existence, while the silent vacuum sucking the blackness into it, to an unknown fate. We just lie there, in each other’s arms, not wanting, just looking. Not asking, just dreaming. I was intoxicated, while I drank her presence, over and over again. Everything else was blurry, save for her. She became my one and only again, my day and night, my sunrise, my sunset.

I knew that I shouldn’t try her patience by saying something that I thought was witty, lest it turned on me, like a lioness who seemed tame at first, only to strike me down in her next heartbeat.

The silence broken by the wind, the waves undulating, the sounds of the spaces between the stars, sighing in their dark matter, your head on my neck, my hand traveling where it wanted, where you guided it thus. I steadied myself against the roof, making contact between the home that we made for ourselves, and all of eternity that surrounded us, encompassed us, threatened to drown us in ourselves.

She didn’t seem to mind our position, perched upon a surface usually only occupied by the odd seagull, or pelican who had lost its way. I was one with the birds. I went for a soar, while she whispered in my ear, telling me, reminding me of who we were once, before life got in the way, making us tired and restless, making us someone else.

The stars changed positions. The North Star, the shepherd, herding its flock around and around. Old friends usually not seen until the advent of Winter, teased and laughed along the edge of the horizon, a portent, a sign of the future. My future with her. My crystal ball seemed cloudy and diffuse as of late. My thoughts being projected along the usual lines of thought, the freeways of my synapses, the electrical impulses that convinced my once in my past, that she was the right one for me. The right one to share my life with.

The wine was beginning to wear off, but I still felt light-headed when we descended the stairs to the warmth, the starless nights, the gravity weightlessness, being down to earth once again.

She  seemed light as a feather, when she confessed to being a bit dizzy, faint at heart and head, literally swooning into my arms.

That night, the her she was, the I that was me, met in a neutral zone. An area of equality, a place where no harm would come to us, nor could we do such things to each other. A night like no other, perhaps existing only for itself, a single entity. An island surround by the seas of our otherwise choppy life together. Something worth repeating.

Something, that most likely, would never come again…

Never again

Tooth and Nail

We never seemed to get along, her and I, although saying goodbye despite that fact, never got easier.

Tooth and nail. That’s how we had it at times. Each of us was right, but never wrong. Oh, I might have had my doubts afterwards, if I had been too pigheaded, or was I just stubborn?

That angry look of hers. Fading now in my memory. She was fighting back the tears. Her anger crept out of its hiding place, drawing dark lines around her face. Her smile turned to frowns, the distrust in her eyes, black and darting. Someone looking for someplace to hide. Someplace to escape.

We were always saying goodbye. She had to leave, and that leaving took a part of me. Each time she left, another part less, another memory more. We knew that goodbyes never were forever. We’d always see each other again, making excuses about the last time, looking around, just never directly in each other’s eyes. Never wanting to know how long the time, we’d spend together would last.

Some might have consoled me, consoled her. “Much better without the other”, they would say. Our track record spoke for itself. No number of endless waves crashing against the shoreline. No amount of sand being wiped clean. No wonder we made it through the trying times. The times together.

I just looked up from my thoughts to find that she’d gone again. Gone far away to other places. Other people to bring out the best in her. Dining and dancing. Living a life like no other that we had shared. Not even thinking back to what she left behind. What we left behind.

I still miss those times. Tooth and nail. Her hands on her hips, pacing the floors, waiting to tell me that this time was indeed the last time. The next to last time before the last time would come.

The last time that came.

My house by the sea was quiet today. Quieter than normal, but I’d gotten used to that. No sounds of loving, of fighting, doors slamming, wheels screeching, doors opening.

Falling into her loving arms again.

Again….

 

The Visit

You told me once. You suggested it. I took it as an invitation. I accepted it as such.

I traveled. I saw life around me. I envisioned our meeting. Every word. Every movement of your eyes. Watching, waiting for a sign. Would your smile reveal itself to me, or would it leave me wondering, if my trip had been in vain? Should I leave again, without a word. Would you notice my departure. While I am standing on your doorstep waiting to be invited in, are their noises inside, telling me to back off. Telling me that there was someone else to contend with?

As I neared your house. As I approached your existence. The minute that I realized that I was about to meet you for the very first time. I stalled. An airplane whose engines were in free fall. One moment to pull up on the stick, before plunging to the ground. The smoke from the crash was visible behind your house. No survivors, they said, but what does it matter, when he hadn’t found love? When the fulfillment of his dreams was for naught. When his name on the headstone would only reflect the number of years from birth to death, without having a loving family to grieve for their loss. His loss.

I had wondered about you. I had dreamed about us meeting. I had expected no less than what you had talked about. A meeting. An exchange of words. An instance of time being together, then, then. I wanted you so dearly. I wanted to hold you and tell you. I wanted to make so many things right in your life. I wanted to love you, as no one ever had loved you before. I wanted so many things, and more, but what did you want?

My insecurity of not knowing exactly how you would react to my words. Not knowing how we would communicate when the usual delay in our written “chat” wasn’t in the way. How could we deal with instantaneous communication, combined with eye-contact, knowing that you would be close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss? I really hadn’t worked out all of the different aspects as to what might could happen. If you rejected me outright, then what? What about modest acceptance combined with grace period where we both could acknowledge our feelings for each other?

As I packed my bag that morning, I took only what was necessary. My notes. Your address. A few items of clothing. The hope that you’d ask me to stay. The look of fear on your face as you peered out of a crack at your front door. Denying me entry. Stopping any other contact right then and there. Turn tail and run. Don’t look back. Don’t ever consider returning. End of story. Close the book. Another chance to love, lost for good.

Perhaps you never really asked me to come visit you? Did I just want it too much, that I convinced myself that you wanted it as well? The last time we wrote each other, didn’t I sense that something wasn’t quite right between us? Didn’t you hesitate just a minute longer than before, when I asked you, but then, but then there was silence. Just silence. I wanted to break your silence, telling you that love could be yours, and mine as well. I wanted to take command of us two, breaking down your walls of insecurity and telling you, without a doubt, how I would could make you happy. Just plain and simple, happy.

I stood there at last. One foot in front of the other, until I attained the object of my quest. My emergence on the scene, past the many colored lights, the photographers wanting your story, while the flashbulbs popped and crackled, the blaring light from the spotlights, the howl of the police escort. The simple bouquet of flowers left at your door from a well-wisher.

The imagined din of your fame and fortune, burning off like fog when the morning sun illuminated your doorstep to me. The wooden flooring, screaming of neglect, while the waves crashed in the background. The seagulls crying, not unlike where I lived, but that existence lacking one with you. It just didn’t have you.

As I stood there, listening. Listening to my heart beat. Feeling how wet my palms seemed, as I dried them on my wrinkled trousers. The bus seat was not kind to my freshly-pressed clothing. The early morning bus stop, after the late-night trip across the country. Across the void separating me from you.

I set my suitcase down, and adjusted my tie. My “going to town” clothing, telling those around me that I knew the difference between casual clothing vs.? Well, what was I when I was at home? Just a beach-bum, or one who appreciated the casual life? Would we be walking the town tonight? Strutting our stuff, telling, showing the rest of the known world, what we knew, what we wanted?

I knocked firmly upon your door. A firm handshake showed determination. No fear here. I knew in my heart, what I had come for as the time drew nigh. My knock sounded hollow in the background. I wondered if it had been too bold a knock, or was I just too weak in my thoughts hoping that you’d hear. Hoping that you knew it was me, standing here?

Footsteps sounding. A pause. A slight hesitation. A moment’s madness gripped me, telling me to flee, before it was too late. The ticking of the clock. A passing cat, meowed. The wind blew, possessing just a gentle breeze in this hurricane’s eye of notice. The maelstrom in my inner self swirled about as time stood still at last. The door opened, revealing…….

A Flash of Recognition

The moment. The day wearing. The time rolling along, just out of sight, out of mind.

My memory being, all that I had to hold on to. A flicker. A flash of recognition. A face in the crowd. Turned away from me.

I pushed my way, wading through a sea of humanity. Trying to reach you. Trying to tell you.

Entanglements in the form of relics. Snatches of impressions. Past encounters that had fallen by the wayside. Hindering my path. The branches hanging low, tearing at my vision. My sight fading as I neared the well in the meadow. All wishes granted to those that believe. Those that are in love.

My doubts caught up with me, blocking my path. Was I really in love? Perhaps it was just an idea I had. A scrap of memory where I played the part of myself, and you, you were someone else, someone who wanted to know me, but couldn’t. Just couldn’t.

I recognized all of the other faces around me, just not yours. Everyone else that claimed to have known me, they who had brushed along me on a busy street, or happened to be next to me. The scent of perfume lingered steadily on my jacket. A warning signal, perhaps that you were nearby. Warning all others that you were mine, and I was yours. Yours alone.

As I neared the top, the sun was setting. All of my efforts, toiling towards my goal, gone lost. I turned back to see you waving. Across the sea of humanity, around the bend of rocky precipices, across the chasm, nearby the edge where the stone fell into the blackness, the loneliness that enveloped you.

A flash of recognition. A face in the crowd, resembling you, but not being you. An iota of memory, a scrap of paper with your number written on it. It was torn in half, on the last day that I said I would call. I most certainly would call you back.

I awoke with these images still. Juxtaposed, random, the light at the end of the tunnel, growing dimmer, the wishing well in the meadow, your hand upon my face, the summit of my emotions fading to black.

Fading to black.

A Run for the Money

I used to think  of  myself as the perfect ladies man. One that could wow them at a moment’s  notice, or forget them at the drop of my hat.

The truth, however, is always a bit different than what we remember it to be, so I probably would be considered an average guy, with average luck with the opposite sex.

She was different. She destroyed all of the average man theories, and what I chose to remember about the others before her. She was both a loner, while being someone who men would kill for, die with her name on their last breath, the girl next door, the one that got away, she was taken by me, and I her.

Never knowing just how long a relationship will last becomes the wild card in the situation. “Should I pop the question, or expect to lose her forever”, a statement which has made many a man shiver at the thought of commitment, of giving oneself to another, to sacrifice one’s principles, to fall madly in love, in love.

Sometimes, I wondered who was in the driver’s seat, her or I? Was I in control, or was it her, even if something called control can be thought of in a relationship. Ideas, suggestions, repercussions, saying that you never loved me, while making the bed for an expected night of love-making, the others warned me about you, I feared leaving you, you ruined my life, I am hopelessly, haplessly in love, in love.

I thought of her as someone, who would give me a run for the money.

She’d leave me from time to time. Just to show me that I only thought of myself, and not of others. I’d come home, with the house looking like a hurricane had been visiting while I was gone. Nary a note or, any indication that she ever would return, greeted my homecoming with the dust hardly settled, or even the front door locked.

I used to sit there and drink myself silly. Blaming her and myself, my worthless life and I’d rue the day, I met her. She was no good, never was worth anything, and my life would be better served without her. I yelled and wailed my lament. No dish, nor plate ever survived my misery, which left me in a worse state than before. I’d write her love sonnets, tear them up again, then drink until I passed out.

She always came home again. Just about when I had gotten my senses about me. Having cleaned up my act and home, setting everything right again.

Then she came home again.

I didn’t deserve her. I know that now. She was too clever for the likes of me. We’d play games with each other, with the one outfoxing the other, then the tables would be turned, then turned again. It was never easy seeing who she really was, as I sometimes wondered when I looked in the mirror, if she wasn’t right in front of me, behind me, in me?

One day I went outside to look for some flowers to adorn her table with. The minutes turned to hours, but when I got back to my house, the windows were alive with light and warmth. Her way about lighting up a room using candles and her smile, knew no match in my otherwise colorless existence. We’d use the evening looking through color catalogs, pointing out what was drab, or what was vivid, painting the skies with our choices, letting the rain mix the colors together, dancing in the rainbows at our feet.

She accepted me as I was, and never tried to change my moodiness. I really wish, she could have cast a spell over me, making me into someone who would have been better for her, keeping the love, but hiding the lesser qualities, the ones that drove the wedge between us in the end.

Why must all things end? Why couldn’t we just continue as we were? I knew the answer to that as well as she did. We just had different agendas in life, non-resolvable, and too darn complicated to forget. I used to suggest a new course for us. Another chance, forsaking all of the other attempts to right the wrongs, to forget the past that we had made for ourselves, to make ourselves new again.

I would only know that I succeeded, if she came back to me . If only…