When Secrets Come

There is something very special when secrets are revealed. Without pressure or coercion. When they are freely given. They open you up. They release you. They free you.

She has entrusted me with several of her secrets. That very few, if any, know. Her thoughts, concerning her deep cravings, of her condition, her past, her activities, secrets concerning her closest family.

This is a very important beginning.

The Dark Cellar

021[1]I try to avoid it. But I opened the door yesterday. I really don’t understand what I was thinking. Perhaps I had put it aside for so long, the urge just decided to pop back into my head on its own. But wait. No, it wasn’t an urge at all. Your prompt just made it come to the foreground. I was outside the door and I couldn’t not open it.

It is dark. And as every time before, I tripped on the stairway. You hate it when I stumble. Plus I know you question why I am even trying to descend the eerie staircase. However, it’s not like I picked the lock. The door is unbarred, and today it was ajar. I don’t want to be here. But I feel I have to be. We must meet in this dank, cold, haunted chamber. You have never wanted me there, and believe me, I have avoided it.

But now I know we need to see each other here. I wonder if either of us are ready.

I don’t know how to find my way in the blackness.

“I’m frustrated that you fall right away,” you say

“I only am familiar with a small part of the staircase,” I answer.

“So ask where the light is, instead of continuing with your stumbling,” you retort.

“I thought if you wanted me to see, you would turn the light on for me,” I mumble back.

“I get tired of the way you ask. It puts me on the defensive” you add. “It’s not something I want analyzed,” you hit me with. “That’s why I get upset. You ask all the wrong ways.”

“Tell me, then. Illuminate my path.”

“Tell you what? Ask me a direct question.”

Although you don’t mean it to be, I know this is a trap. I will fall, and most likely hurt myself. And probably you.

“No, not tonight,” I answer. “It doesn’t matter” I lie.

 

 

 

Sea Waves [II]

This is part [II] of Cassandra’s upcoming visit. You can refresh your memory with part [I] here

I have booked an airport hotel room for Cassandra when she arrives. Her flight will be one of the last ones in. Alas, I can not meet it. I have one of those unavoidable life circumstances happening. I won’t be able to see her until sometime the next morning.

Since I could not be there in person to welcome her to my city, I thought I would be considerate and cache in the room some meaningful items for her:

— a splendid bottle of one of her favored white wines on ice

– some sparking water which she enjoys to refresh after the long flight

– a rose in her favorite color on the pillow to hint of my presence the next morning

All good in theory. But getting to the hotel is proving to be a significant challenge. My appointment at the extreme opposite end of the city went long. As in way, way long. Which caused me to be in the midst of rush hour traffic toward the hotel. And today’s rush hour was one of the worst in recent times what with volume, and accidents. And my next appointment is also far from the hotel.

The rabbits’ feet and horse shoes better start their magic … soon.

 

Edging Towards The Precipice

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWe chat. We talk on the phone. We email.

I think “What if?”

I ponder “Should I?”

I wonder “Will she?”

I ask “Can I?”

I dream “She will!”

I contemplate “What if she doesn’t?”

I trust in “It will be.”

Everything becomes closer. Us. Our souls. The need. The time. The fear. The joy.

The Universe Responds

earth_space[1]Perhaps you will remember the recent post  about attending my garden (of women). I did make a valiant effort at pruning, and I thought I’d catch you up on what has transpired.

My first candidate for the shears was Ronnie. I haven’t written very much of her, and with good reason. Frankly, not much has happened. Her inability to arrange suitable get together times has frustrated me for long past the patience of mere mortal males. She has been a major disappointment, and here was the opportune time for me to cut my (time) losses. Then, miracle of miracles, as I slowed the pace of communication and showcased some of my frustrations, she became more responsive. Move her from the definite to go to the maybe can stay pile. Grrrr!

Next for the pruning snips was all communication with Cassandra. Our lives were definitely headed in different directions, and although the fondness and tenderness would always be there (and her for me, I knew), practically speaking there was not going to be any immediate payoff registering on my emotional grid. I had already mentally said goodbye. What remained was just perfunctory closure.

As I transmitted that message to the galaxy, it was received throughout the universe. And  the universe decided to respond. A minor action somewhere distant to her world caused a barely noticeable tremor near to her, which led to slow but steady, like a dripping faucet, deterioration elsewhere. This caused mon beau papillon to flutter her wings anew, to explore, and send her own signals out to the galaxy.

When the waltz began, the music, the touching, the renewed closeness lifted her spirits, which in turn, brightened my days.. As a result she has asked to visit. These days we live far, far apart.

But I believe it will happen.

How A Witch Gets Into Your Head

sorceress1[1]Early afternoon on a weekday. Texting

Her: Logically, I don’t

Me: Do your famous compartmentalizing and focus on the logical.

I reach for my can of shaving cream. I’m very late today because of a crazy power outage, and my mind has been dawdling at less than half its normal velocity. My phone chirps.

Her: I’m keeping you from shaving.

Me: Are you watching? I’m just getting ready to shave!

Her: Does that weird you out? That I knew?

Me: No. It makes me warm inside.

 

 

Layla

1291450088_small[1]You are so curious. I think I like it.

You have discovered I am never exactly as I seem. It’s not that simple, is it?

I’m learning, apparently neither are you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because you like the music. There is so much behind the scenes here. So many characters brought together. So much below the surface. So much apparent and much that isn’t.

Unless you search and wonder. Or know :

Reflections

mirror-man[1]Reflections as I work through my morning workout session.

How could I have? How did I? Why did I? Why do I? Why am I?

Something like this had never happened in a long, long time. This type of love? Its unique characteristics? Never. How on earth did it happen. It should never have. It could never have.

What did I fall for? The contradictions? The deep and the vacuous? The commitment to the difficult and yet always the path of the easy? The mysterious wrapped in the mundane? The passionate with the dismissive? The utterly impossible mated to the profoundly magical? ? Your twists and weaves compared to my directness? The winging, soaring highs bungied to the crashing times of despair?  Simultaneously fascinated and repelled by the all consuming narcissism?

Did I want to teach, yet be open to learn?

I was wary, yet became obsessed.

Perhaps, possibly, maybe. These words our certainty.

Why did I not feel anything at the end? Why am I so emotionless now? Why am I so uncaring? So completely detached.

Questions on a Friday.  Answers in a millennium.

More reflection required.

Ice Floes

The wind, gentle and cool for some time, now feels like it is picking up. In all directions.  It’s not ice cold yet, but I can feel it coming. The temperature is most certainly dropping.  The seasons have changed. As the wind intensifies, the crack that split our common ice floe slowly, steadily, yet inexorably drifts us further apart. The barely noticeable daily current of our lives pushes us further away, as well.  And the wind from the Nor’ Eastericeshelf_01[1] could be chilling you to the bone, I think.

The airport chats, the personal video, in the end rather than expressions of caring and thought, leave us unsatisfied because the point has been either forgotten, or simply lost.

Goodbye.