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you've only got yourself to blame...

When I got home from work on Friday and checked the mail I found a small envelope from the Poet. He’d made me a copy of the Owen CD because he thought I should hear it – simply because it is “beautiful Fall music” and “perhaps you’ll have a few cool mornings on which to listen to it.”

The letter also talked about the recent death of a friend of his (drunk driving – she was the pedestrian, completely innocent, completely in the wrong place at the wrong time), the marriage of another and life with his girlfriend and their kitten. His letter, as all of his letters are, was imbued with a palpable sense of both sorrow and joy, contentment and longing. It ended, as usual, with “Love to you, always”.

It brought the sobs out of me with such a fierce and frightening velocity.

And I couldn’t really tell you just for what I was crying.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s possible to have two soul-mates in life, not just one.

I love GB like crazy. He is my best friend. He understands me on most levels and makes me laugh and calms me when I’m upset and believes in me.

The Poet understands me on all the other levels and makes me dream and grasps the underlying truth when I am upset and believes in me.

No, I wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with him again – not for a million years. And I’m genuinely happy that he and the Girl have been together this long and that he actually thinks of settling down with her.

But sometimes I have this odd, sharp longing to tumble naked with him once again. It has nothing to do with sex. Honestly. It’s about the intimacy of our flesh and the way that I remember it on those hot summer nights in his bedroom with the cool fan blowing a breeze on our bare, damp skin and the blueness of his eyes and the wordless understanding that has existed between us since day one.

Sometimes I wonder if there is this parallel life out there – one that I might be living, one that is continuing on without me and, with every step of the way, diverging further and further from the one upon which I travel.

10:24 am - 06.17.03

sounds:
words:
i am:

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previously on ... - next time on ...

money can't buy happiness but it does buy small pieces of of serenity - 15.07.12 - 4:29 pm

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Hear that lonesome whistle blow... - 02.04.12 - 5:18 pm

a faith in something I can't see - 30.03.12 - 3:33 pm

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