Companionable silence  etc 

I think I’ve posted a poem exactly, almost,  like this one.  I still love this woman.  Her situation hasn’t changed but I foolishly hold out hope that she will make a choice that changes it.  I think that is stupid of me.  But I don’t want to lose her.  Being beside her is often enough.  That’s so rare.  But I know I need more.  But I will hold on to us as long as I can.  


I had a dream last night. I was living in London but not real London. It was the dreamscape I refer to as the City. It’s based on a amalgam of cities I’ve spent time in. DC, New York, Seattle and Phoenix. But the whole time we were calling it London and making comments about Britain. There was a subplot of looking for/running from something. That is general anxiety. But the over notes were me as observor of these friends of mine living their lives and having fun. I’m on the periphery. Offering advice and comments, jokes. And we all occasionally have sex. Singly or in groups. It’s all very companionable. It’s like these are the people. That goes on for half the dream. I then notice someone who I know in my actual life is on the periphery as well. And this is odd because it’s not any of my current people I’m courting. We aren’t dating, aren’t seeing each other, it’s something more than friendship, and I am looking to have it be more, what else do I call it but courting? Anyway, it’s this woman Jessica whom I have always been attracted to and who has always been interesting. It’s odd because I haven’t seen or even interacted with her in years. We all as a group go to the Bookstore. Which in my mind is a good place filled with great memories and also books, so Sqee. She’s on my left side and we are looking through the books and I invite her to an opera. I like opera, never actually been to one but my dream self doesn’t seem to have that problem. I ask and she says, wonder of wonders, yes. Now to put this in context we met years ago when she was seeing someone else. It was never the right time for us. If there even could have been an us. And here she is in my dream, we are planning a date together, which is my preference. I like collaboration not dictation. Her elbow is touching mine. A prolonged contact. Deliberate. We pick an opera and I wake up. Weird.

Songs written and no longer sung

I’ll give you my song, a poem
Sung in minor keys, whiskey stained
A tenor damaged, broken baritone
A past that creeps in, triumphantly hopeful
Fae dances in moonlight, broken masks
Screaming pain to the crowd, shattered pieces
Music in the night blooming flower, beautiful despite
The strands of hopes ending, strength subsided

Thoughts on reciprocity and love

There is nothing I desire more than to have the love I am, the love I send out be returned to me by those I love. I suppose that’s where my failure lays. That I need that love to be returned to me.

It’s counter intuitive. When we love, we want, we desire, that love to be returned to us. But that is placing a boundary on love. It is saying that I will only love if I gain from doing so. And that is not love. That is calculation, that is want.

Or perhaps I am painting myself as someone to be held to a different standard because there are none who return my love. And it is easier to say that that is a fault of humanity instead of my fault. That those my heart love are always the ones least likely to love me back.

Or maybe the truth, TRUTH, lays somewhere in between. Maybe I need to be a bit more forgiving of my own needs, my own desires.

Or maybe I just need someone to hold me and tell me it will be OK.

Perhaps I should accept the fragility of my heart and just accept that as long as I am honest in my love, as long as those I love know that They Are Loved, I have done all that I can.