In lieu of forgetting.

All the things, he had them. And it was real, I know it was. It was real because I felt it and still feel it, so long gone. For so many months the only reality that I wanted was forgetting. And since there will never be forgetting there will have to be remembering.


In such a short time everything that happened changed me so completely, in many ways I was weakened but also altered into something new, like a forging in fire. It wasn’t romantic as all that however. It has been made perfect by time and the mystery of the whys and how comes. But it wasn’t romantic. I wanted it to be and so it was. I guess I could have done that with anybody if the moon was just right and the perfect music played. If he had stuck perhaps the love thing would have faded, not perhaps, probably.


That love thing running like a horse away from the stable into the field, feeling freedom and the dust churned up by pounding hoofs. And somehow I still need to remember, despite the hard stop, despite the wickedness of it all.



If I stand in the face of it and make it look at me while I look at it, maybe the pull will soften and I can imagine myself giving in to some one new.  Maybe but maybe not. Memories like a stampede and time like the slowest clouds moving in the hottest sky. Fuck it.



*All images are via tumblr, not mine, if you see an image that belongs to you please contact me and I will site you or remove it.  

This is what I think when I think of love.

This is what I thought of when I thought of love.


As a child it was a bird that landed in the window and flew away when I reached out to touch it.  It never stayed long.  I learned that to look at it was to scare it away.  To move towards it was to force it into flight.

I taught myself to view it from the corner of my eye.  And we lived in harmony this way.  And when I tired of that I would rush at it, flapping my arms, daring it to leave.  The fear of something is almost always worse than it actually occurring.  And sometimes this was true.  Is true.


If my windowsill felt empty, it was only because I couldn’t stop looking at it.  Even in the dark I knew that there was nothing there.   And that space was so big and me so small.

When I think of love now I think of warmth like tropic salt water.  I think of immersing myself under the waves and feeling calm within a thundering wash.  I long for love to be the harbor, even though I am the storm.  I can’t be protected from the weather that is inside of me.  And in this place lives a tiny child who runs at the bird to scare it away and dies as she watches it soar.  A thing for others but not for her.

This is what I do when I let it all go.


I know that out there in that vast space around me is a love that stays.  A love that forgives, forgets, and saves.  I know that out there I will find a love that holds me close and leads me towards my fears, not away.  That love will shine a light on my demons and expose them as dust bunnies and shadows.  And in return I promise love that I will always keep the light on.  The door will always stay wide to the wind.  And though I will never be whole, I will always be ready to try.

This is what I say to love when in sits in the windowsill, wings spread.


I am sorry.  I never meant to chase you away.  I was taught that when I reached for you that you would leave.  And because of that I sat still, grew scared, and then lunged.  Thinking maybe this would be the time I could hold you in my arms.  I was wrong.  I need you know to know that your beauty has forever changed me and I will stare at my window and see your shape and hear your sound for as long as I live.  In my heart I know how lucky I am to have been so close to you and I am grateful beyond words.  I believe in you and admire your flight; it felt so wonderful to see the world from your perch, even if only for a moment.  You taught me to be brave and true.  You taught me that love is not something you can hold.  It is something that holds you, flies when it likes, and visits you when you least expect it.

This is what I think of when I think of love.


I long for the day when I can sit in the same room with love and it stays.  It hears me cry and rage, and it stays.  It says to me that I will never leave you; I will never give you a minute of loneliness.  I will be by your side no matter how scared you get.  I don’t need to fly away because I am yours and you need me.  You are mine and I need you.

This is what I think of when I think of love.

Jerome Witkin-Native American-1974

Love Stories

Oh faithful, intrepid readers!  Oh how I love thee!  Oh how I want to smother thee in kisses, juices, blue words, baubles, and cougar furs!  Its V-day and though I loathe the idea that love in America gets only one lousy day, I am honoring this holiday with a post.  Start it off by activating the song below….now slowly work your way down the page….stopping when the mood suits to, um, linger over that special spot.  Give it all the time you need.  Love takes time.  Except when it rushes in.  And when it does, let it take over mother fucker.  Don’t try to stop what the Gods clearly gave us in lieu of immortality and wings.

Play (rightclickfordownloadsucka)

I fall in love every single day.  I used to fall in love at least twice on every Bart ride to and from school.  He would be sitting a seat or two away across from me.  I couldn’t just stare but I would glance, side long, when the rules permitted.  My imagination would carve out a long and humid story line, one that ended in a tear soaked parting.  My train route took me, for a thrilling 14 minutes, under the Bay.  It was then that our tale would unfold.  My stop always came to soon and with tattered hearts we would part ways.

The first time I fell in love….head first.  In a club, 16.  I walked up to him, informed him that he was about to get kissed, and he did.  I spent the next year growing up, fast, and loving him, deep.  That was a turbulent time in my life.  I nearly lost a parent, I spent some time homeless, I was acrimoniously divorced from my high school life.  And yet I remember that time as love soaked and exciting.  Love can color your life in the most wonderful of shades.  It fortified me against the devils of the world.

Love two- In eyeliner I scratched out my number, left it lodged in his door jam.  He called.  6 years later, two states, one dog, one cat, lots of love, lots of fights, we separated in a Hawaii airport.  His body scarred, my soul healed, calmed.  He held my hand as I fought off the demons of many lifetimes, he rubbed balm on my wounded heart, and as I won the battles, he lost the war.  The biggest tragedy of love is that we do the work so the next lover can reap the benefits.  He will always be the biggest hero of my life and I dream of him still.  I dream of a man that slams the breaks on just because he sees a dirt road that we haven’t been down yet.  Punches it down the path and lands us in the most beautiful, untouched grove of alders, even though we are late, and I am flipping, begging him to turn around.  There is always time for a new adventure.  Thank you….you know who you are.  You changed my life.

The love that came down the pike next was a bit, how do you say?, tumultuous? It was shrouded in a haze of unrequited, jealous, and strange love.  An ill fit.  I learned that square does not fit in circle.  I learned that just because you have love doesn’t mean you have friendship.  Lust is dangerous when you refuse to mine it for anything but sex.  But at least I learned.

What came after….my reward and my punishment.  All that was good in the world and all that would prove too heavy to bare.  Love is a powerful thing.  It will wake you up before the sun and keep you hungry long past the moon.  I would never seek a refund on what was so generously given, but the pain still gives me pause, years later.  My first true heartbreak, I never knew such agony.  His removal of love was like an amputation without anesthesia.  Surgical and brutal.  Bloody.   A topic commonly broached here is fear.  I never knew fear until this.  I was the one who thrust without thought, living for the thrill of love and longing.  Now…well…love left its marks all over me.  And now I run at the sight of it.  Like a survivor, I know that we will meet again, but I fear you.  I know that you can/will bring me to my knees.  In the back of my mind I remember that only the strong can bend knee and remain aloft.  Still I quiver at the thought.  My heart is a hibernating bear in spring, squinting at the sun, hungry, skinny.  Please be kind to me love.  I will give you more than everything.  But I will shake with fear as I do.

Let the idea of love rule all 365 days, let it ride you like a mustang, let it tame you, let it set you free!