Saturday, January 23, 2016

The cure and the disease...

A Moment of Life in a Lifetime of Time

Help her with a sad task. Hold her through tears, loss, despair. When you see her face, the three silent weeks and what they might have meant are forgotten. She tells you she knows you are sending love while you hold her. You are, and you hope she can feel it and understand. You hope that it does her some good. She'll leave again soon, but now she is here, and that sacred feeling descends. You open. You cannot be sure she will do the same. This is fleeting, potentially deadly and, some would say, illusory. To you it is absolutely right, real, more vital than your own blood.

Saturday, January 16, 2016


Especially vulnerable in the morning. Waking up is dangerous. The same is true throughout the night. You left the window open, the doors unlocked, and intruders came in. Your mind raises possibilities, shows you images you do not want to see. Your mind must be managed at all times. Check the locks, post a sentry. Vigilance. And if you really want the power and pain of those images to fade, you must  kill her off- really let her go. You must stop waiting and turn your back. Ready for that?

And then your mind turns. You know at least some of what she is contending with. You've got to give her time. You try to send help, strength, calm. You have to let her go, but you don't have to turn your back. You'll wait because you remember .

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Too Long

Her first name is uncommon, yet this week he's heard it spoken three times attached to different last names. Three false alarms. Three alternative paths. Three possible women, stories, dreams.

He's thinking of this, breathing shallow inhalations, the last of the good air in this small space. They were just playing hide and seek. He's well hidden inside an old cast-off refrigerator with the door shut tight. There's no handle on the inside, and he doesn't realize she's been called home for dinner. He'll expire here. The fact that she's not even looking for him gradually comes to dominate his awareness. He wonders who she will become after him.

Thursday, January 7, 2016

She looked at him and he felt a spark tingle to his bones...

A Simple Twist of Fate

Andy spends much of his time in the car unhappy with the radio, cursing the other drivers, and changing the stations. Last night he heard the theme from Taxi Driver on a jazz station and it settled him a little. Then came the theme from Midnight Cowboy, "everybody's talking at me, I can't hear a word they're saying, only the echoes of my mind..."

He hasn't seen Sunny in over a week. She's on hiatus again, said she had things to handle. This time she told him not to wait. She texted a cryptic happy new year last week, but other than that, silence. He's an interpreter of silences. He has so far filled the void with several story lines which he edits and reworks a little every day.

He's immersed himself these past few weeks in work, self-help reading, and exercise. Resilience is living in - and dealing squarely with - the new normal, minute by minute. The new normal is one in which she, unambiguously, no longer wants to be with him. Winners look forward. Losers dwell in the past. He's resolved this year to be ok no matter what she does.

Bob Dylan comes on next telling about a star-crossed encounter, and Andy can see himself in every scene along with traces of Sunny. He's remembering and softening now. His resololution suddenly seems like a betrayal, or at least premature, and he's in doubt again.

People tell me it's a sin
To know and feel too much within
I still believe she was my twin...

Andy sings along with Bob the last line- blame it on a simple twist of fate. As it fades, his phone dings with her tone. The message is a short sentence regarding the rebounding health of her dog. Athough absolutely nothing has changed in their relationship, for a moment, everything is exactly right.


Friday, January 1, 2016

What's so New?

Not angry about New Year's Eve and the hype
Surrounding it, but I avoided it, I'll tell you that
I'm not a hater - believe me - I've searched my soul
But I can't feel your enthusiasm for it or
Maybe I'm just depressed by the canned
And patterned nature of it
An unqualified automatic response on cue
No matter what shape this thing is in

Where were you when the ball dropped?
I want to ask her, but I don't