Dear Love,
The instant that we met, you knew that the future was not ready yet. You closed your eyes, leaving six weeks to deal with the past. I remember as if it were yesterday. You asked if I had said my fair wells to the last needy heart as you had, and as i had, gently - you came to be free. (If I was always predetermined to love you well, that's perfectly fine with me.)
Years on, when we met for coffee, you told me back then, that I needn't have bothered - as we had already had a fight about it, an hour or two later... You had said I was always too selfishly busy, and I had said that you were so stubbornly needy. You said that it was of no consequence again, as I was soon to stomp off – but we were also about to kiss and make up, as soon as the remembering had stopped...
You get tired of waiting because you think I am late again. I always have had trouble fixing eternity in a frame. My search will take forever because now is here and gone and I am living in it, reprogrammed, searching the frequency of song. Now, I stop to take your hand from out of the past, to stroke the whole of your palm. My fingers curl, meeting the beckoning call from your future-familiar fingertips. I rest on the push and flow of our reluctance, reeling in the magnetic pull of doubt's savoury sweet regret.
Gravity, for a change, is in perfect aspect - as we neither hold each other - nor are held. In that perfect resting Be, I remember why I am bothered an hour or two later, to go back and show you that I'm free.
We respect each other’s selfish need. I said you should just allow me, like I have before, to take your hand and stroke the whole of your palm.
They say Eternity's plan is written for you and me, but I rush and do not rush as I see fit. Nothing matters, except the mysterious, magical illusion of our free will. I will search your ethereal mystery in eternity's calm, chaotic corridors and tug and pull each action from my true heart. I choose to come back to you, not as a fool, but with the inevitable functional need of this poor human body and brain. We reveal what is existentially typical, what is unwritten but already known in this cyclical, cynical, breathless twinkle of the Ether's intangible game. I love you, freely and as best I can. Consequently... I search willingly for why - and how I love - and hope you will want to hear and understand.
In the moment of understanding, we are as free as we can be. The mystery reveals part of itself through an imperfect vision of you and me. It is for you and the mystery that we search, and learn, to dream.
Goodnight Angel x
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2005
