A possible goodbye...

I need to be unafraid of a world in which you do not exist, because, as we know, this will most likely not last. However, even knowing the reality of the situation—and I am not a forlorn fool—the fear of losing even one crumb of this thing we have built is enough to make my head ache. The thought of you, and where you are, and more specifically, where I am not, makes everything in my mind fly madly, and feel all mixed up. In fact, I want nothing more than for you to tell me that I, we, and this, will make it through the impending storm . . . but you will not . . . because, in your being, as much as you want to tell me to reach out my hand, you know there is no workable way. You will wash me away like dirt from a window. I will protest, arguing that there is a work around, and a way through this roadblock, but you will see something entirely ugly. The problem for me though is that I hold so few in my heart, that the pain is going to be real, palatable, and sickening. My blood will go to a quiet place, followed closely by my words. When you are gone, I will think of a million things I should have said to make you remember me as you ride off into the great bright sunset of your life. Just once before you disappear, I want to feel you hold me like you will never let go....

One day I will ask you to meet me, someplace we have been, talked, or dreamed about. It will be a place where we remember each other in the best of light. You may, or may not show, but I will be there, alone, with no regrets.

Inspired by a random mix of songs.

Sunday Scribblings (Wonder)

This week's word is Wonder:

In the moments not filled with the tedium of the day, he can not help but dream about how his life would be different if she were in it. If it were so, the years of torment, ridicule and bullying would vanish in an instant, for he, armed with his lady love, would be a force to be reckoned with. If only the opportunity would present itself, he would wrap her up, provide her with the strength to stop the mascaraed, and allow her to live freely in a society that seems to only glorify her on October 31. In his moments of private freedom, he can picture her, adorned in red--him in a matching tuxedo--walking triumphantly into the latest caper, and saving the day. Fresh from their joined victory, they would retire to their mansion on the hill, and wait for the press clippings to roll in about the new “dynamic duo.” He can see them, in all their glory, “Wonder Woman and Husband save the day yet again.” It may not be much, but his love carries him through the everyday.

What it is. . .

I have lost count of the times I have given up on you, on “us”, and this thing we have. I know it doesn't show, but I have played this out countless times, and regardless of the scenarios manufactured, I find myself sitting, waiting, and hoping that this, whatever it is, does not fade. I find myself looking around, wondering where you are, and why you are not here . . . with me . . . being with you. The fact is, I am different with you in the picture, and that brings a joy that I--unlike most things in this uber-complicated life--am able comprehend.

The first thirteen words are taken from Beautiful Wreck, by Shawn Mullins.

Part Two -- The Response

Part two to http://aloneontheisle.blogspot.com/2010/03/sunday-scribblings-book-that-changed.html: From: Bert.S.Slesser@optimum.com To: Denise.D.Slesser@optimum.com Subject: MY THOUGHTS Apr. 7, 2010, 2:41am Dear Denise, While it it not leather-bound, did not take twenty-two years to craft, and is significantly shorter than the work you pieced together, here are “My Thoughts”: Dedication: To all those who honored me with their presence. Page 1: I would not change a minute, we had a good run, and I love you all. Bert.