The Sun in My Face, beaming with a satisfied pride that He has given us so much pleasure today – an impossibly blue sky, fierce warm rays and much reflection in the healing waters of We. Uh-oh, there he goes again.

Yeah. I can’t help it. In spite of the moment that saved my sanity, encountering a blonder, blue-eyed version of You – not so much in her looks although I can see the type I fall for time and again in many ways from physique to bright clear eyes (hers are blue, Bebe) to the non-American appeal. Of course. I wouldn’t be ME if that weren’t my trend.

As the church bells peal their six o’clock grace over the setting park and the fading cries of babies tired with too much play, I had read about pleasure in the book Eastern Body Western Mind. Wondered if we gave ourselves too much pleasure. Wondered if you really let your Self go and then recanted, recoiled and made amends for so freely loving and taking pleasure in Your own Body for Me to witness, for Me to enjoy and in My Body for You. I guess I’ll never know what flipped the switch in You to throw down a sudden change in direction, something I know You won’t ever see as the ultimatum it was.

But, what I really hopped on to write about to You was the cresting Sun, Apollo headed west to the stables to rest his steeds. Well, he actually has to keep on truckin’ so that’s not it but it sounds nice. It’s just that this picture of us in our first NY good-byes, sending you off to your island, came on the day just like this one – three days prior to a Solstice.  But if you look at the length of the day in relation to the individual Solstice, We are in harmony tonight with that same evening when You wrote me the most tender note. Does that note still exist if I sent it back to you later in the emotional turmoil of Your dumping Me? Do the words I will wait for You. I want to spend the rest of my Life with You still count if a. you have possession of the proof ? and b. if You have departed and thus, we cannot Be? Either way, the Sun marches onward, measurably in the same position in the sky even though our faces were jilted by cold and crisp air that night, snow under foot to your wonder and delight just like school days when I never could bring myself to talk to You. This one, like two smitten college kids, walking the quad.

We Love

We Love

Maybe in the end We were only recapturing a moment in time lost, you indulging a school boy’s dream girl fantasies and finding love like you always wished for, longed for and craved before you were swept away into a self-induced path where fear led you.
I sometimes still wish I could have been more courageous to speak with you, to go up to your father and mother and introduce myself on graduation day, to tell them how special You are. But, I think they know.

Today in that same book I read about Iris the Goddess of Rainbows. Well, fancy that. Wasn’t I just talking of Your amazing eyes, those dilated pupils and unending irises both wide with hunger, excitement and passion for Life, Love and Learning. The most smiling sad eyes, I reckon, ever. That drama into which your gravity slowly drew me is part of the charm. I only wonder if I will be able to come down off that high to ever Love another simply for stirring the oatmeal – I like to think You and I can live without the love potion, do the menial things of Life, live in the here and Tao. And, yet I can’t be sure as the Silent Sea you summoned has washed over Me and continues to lap its waves onto my oh-so-grave and saddened shores.

92 days. The Sun is now streaking further away from Me compared to that March evening. when We were drawing nearer and Our Love was growing brighter. Now, just as the Sun You said was Me watching over You, how I wish I were with You on a beach this evening. Maybe this Sun setting and rising theme has it’s resonance because at least for a few minutes at day’s start and end, You feel physically closer to Me while at the peak of the day, high above, lonely and too far out of reach. The summer fierce contrasts and washed out hues cannot compare to these Shades of You – softer, kinder, gentler Autumn blue. Yet, how I long now for the sweltering pressure of that humid Summer heat, not for the weather and warmth but because Your abandoning Me was fresh and new, my Hope still palpable and my suffering deep.

Today, acceptance has whispered in on the winds of September as I attempt to harvest new moments like my Italian Hope that I can ever forget about You.


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