Tag Archives: romance

She, Concluded. (In which I invent a new word or two)

Our little romance lasted about a month, but in the end we were simply from two different worlds and two different times in our lives. We enjoyed a Kerouacian Roman Candle affair, and we parted amiably and with respect.

My heart is intact, and I learned a few things about myself. I still feel beautiful. I do have love, all kinds of love, to offer a myriad of different people. Even romance, in the future, should it come my way again. It’s not a threat or a deviation from my path.

This affair raised some questions in my mind, and I’d like to pose them to You. There’s an answer (sort of) at the end of this, but it’s my answer. I know that everyone will have different experiences and therefore different reactions to this.

A singular question. If you had the power of foresight, how would it change the way you live your life? Would you initiate a romance, knowing that it would disintegrate?  If, before you even became pregnant, you knew your daughter would die in her teens, would you still give birth? If you knew the one you loved was going to betray you twenty years from now, or die prematurely, would you go forward with becoming partners?

Luckily, we are spared the curse and horror of foresight. We have the ability to grasp the now.

For me, the answer is a resounding yes. Give me the moments, give me the now, give me all the feelings I can collect. Let me hoard my memories. Memories: the power of living your life in any order you want. You can revisit the moments you had with people you love. So in this context, death isn’t the end, because you aren’t changing ANYTHING, just recontextualizing the experience of it all.

The experience with Monique taught me a few things, but what I’m holding onto from this time is simply this: Life is a beautiful thing. Experience all kinds of love, and though you may lose it, it adds value to who you are and how you shape your life, even if you have to face some fears to do so.

You may lose … no, that’s not correct. You are going to lose, because that’s part of the road. There really isn’t a damned thing you can do about it: you are informed by the journey itself and given different perspective or information, any step you make might be different. Collect the moments with all you are worth.

All of this to say: it was wonderful, and now it’s over, and I have no regrets.

I’m still beautiful, and my road stretches ahead. There is love, out there.

 

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Ghosts

Here is the beach I stormed as a child. The sand is rife with memories and spirit.

My grandparents are here, still alive and vital and brimming with my history. My parents are here, still alive and still in love.

My first kiss was here. Right here where I’m sitting. Alma … Alma Sizemore. Our romance was about 45 minutes long and nearly 40 years ago, but I remember her name, her coal hair against her powder blue jumper, her face … and her kiss, which tasted of sea salt and Bubblicious watermelon gum.

The pier is gone. No shade for a young poet on a summer day, but its shadow is still cast long. Decades long. Slippery wood and barnacles, the whistle of the wind around taut fishing line. Grandpa Jack  laughing hard and real, smoke trailing from his pipe.

“Buzzard, run get me lunch. Come back straight, don’t stop to read the comics.”

I sing ‘Desperado’ as a ritual. I change the names of the cards in the songs.

The sun is going down over the sound. I watch for a green flash, listen for the hiss as the water on the other side of the world extinguishes the day …

Sorry, Grandpa. I stopped to read the comics, and I played Asteroids. I stopped for kisses, and I sang to the sea. I danced in the sand and I followed my own road.

I miss You.

I didn’t come back straight: I came back ‘crookeder than hell’, but the journey is amazing. You’d all be proud of me, if your ghosts could see me. I just know you would.

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