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.

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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.

 

 

As We Begin to Waltz

slowwaltz[1]And so for two days we’ve begun to dance once more.  Not exactly like old times, and the tempo is slow. But we do both know the connection is alive. We know how, but we’re wary.  First stiff then compliant. Eagerness held in check. The steps and the cadence are familiar.

It won’t be a torrid tango of old from the Argentine, and we will never showcase our moves again in prime time. That will remain the property of the archives. But there is little hesitation. Only minor awkwardness.

We’ve begun with the waltz, but it feels comfortable doesn’t it? I have missed holding you like this. An observer would see we move well together. Our movements as one. Your follow to my lead. My pledge to grasp you tight. Not let you fall. Why there might even be a double reverse spin coming up.

Today we saw our reality.  We are joined somehow, beyond all reason, above every contradiction.

No manual can explain the intricacies of connection. No logic will solve the mystery. No book able to chart the magic.

There is no how. There is no why. There is what we are.

Mon Beau Papillon

Viceroy_Butterfly[1]You have now alit mon beau papillon.

I am so at a loss.

I want to protect you, shield you, help you. But I cannot.  All you are going through right now would overwhelm anyone. The personal traumas, the work, and now the missing love.

And you call out for your old self. She was always there you say now. I know she never left. That, I always knew. You liked to pretend she was gone. You flit back and forth, totally  committed one day. Disappearing the next.

“We’re quite the contrast,” I say.

“Opposites attract,” you smirk.

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.

That Fixed Things!

Just_a_tender_hug____by_Ottokees[1]That certainly worked to get me out of my funk. It didn’t take much. Seeing you for a short time on the weekend. Getting to hug you even if it was platonic and watching your big brown eyes look up at me. I felt the electricity run through you. My heart was racing, too. And discreetly tugging your pony-tailed hair. No one saw. That was our secret.

That’s all it took. Now I’m back to my usual self. Craving. Things are good.