There were times where I wandered around my cute cottage in downtown wilmington's outskirts. I had been alone for days. I would be alone for days. The phone never rang. I would sometimes leave messages on the phone for others. I would be bizarrely and pathetically comforted by greg's gold saturn wagon parked across the street. There was a foot soldier if the forces absolutely needed to be called. My best friends were deeply embroiled in that phase of romance where a crazy film widow and ex-lover were not things desired. I would look at the ceiling and imagine long dead indian gods sympathizing with my plight. I would slam my lips against the bars of my cage. I would understand that I was born alone, and I would die alone. I would forge alliances with alec on the internet. He would write once to my four. I would spurn the wires and the ones and zeros. I would rail against my connection to electric fahrenheit 451 allies. I had a lot of time on my hand - a lot full of beautiful flowers and greenery. Sickeningly, cloyingly, sadly beautiful. Ms. Haversham in da house. My backyard had a bubbling pond with koi and water lilies. I had grape vines and carolina jasmine. I had privacy. I had solitude. I would listen to music. When I would go for my daily walks, I would wryly say to myself "here we go a-fucking-gain.". On good days, I would joke with myself and realize that I was still in here. Nothing would happen. I had all day to think what a failure I was - how I could be writing, creating, volunteering for homeless, needy, unwed, illiterate, unloved... how I could be getting a job to help with the burdens. I didn't do these things. I wept. I lamented. I rended my hairshirts to shreds. I smiled in public like a wan mona lisa. I took baths every day.
Sometimes I took two. I knew that my friends must know that I was dying. I knew they knew I was alone. I waited. I waited. I waited.
Sometimes the phone would ring. My ears would prick up. The call was nothing. Paths were worn from my pattering. I would wish for a bullet to prick my skull from a sniper on the street. I would wish that someone was watching me from the road and seeing how lonely I was and would fall in love with me from afar and rescue me. The knock. I waited. The ring. I waited. The rescue. I waited. The music. I listened. The library. I haunted. The shower curtain was never pulled back. The sobs were never held by another's embrace. I was damned. I must have been exiled.
Then the damn broke. It does doesn't it. Break-ups happened. Phonecalls made. Words spilled. Wards welcomed. Destiny accepted. Hope filed away for future use. Suitors made last plays for my hand. Parties were given. Sad parties. Restaurants were said goodbye to. Shame made eyes avert. Parents came. Furniture was moved. Stuff tucked in attic. Fear put under skin where it wouldn't show so much.
Tears flowed at odd times. Fainting happened once. Miles were crossed. A gate was broken. I sat in a living room alone in a different town. The black hole wasn't visible because it was everywhere. Trust never regained. Love never resolved. Last letters sent. Closure achieved through a psychic. Beer was drank in solitude.
Food was eaten in solitude. Dogs were walked in solitude. Bodies were enlarged. Bodies were bloated. Yoga was done. Weekends were played. Wine was drunk. Walks were taken. Cheeks were placed on window pains. Cigarettes were smoked. Cigarettes were repudiated.
Death was welcomed. Move was made towards ocean. Move was made away from pain. Sun shined. Hope visited again. Hope mocked. Laughter had. Friends gained. Friends lost. Questions asked. Questions left alone. Words screamed. Words sighed. Dogs walked. Love lost.
Infatuation lost. Blue balls of emotion achieved. Bizarre e-mails received. Desperate emails sent. Confusion abating and receding. Clarity sought. Gods laughing. Ceilings stared at. Patterns recognized. Patterns detested. Things hated became things done. The beginning of cycle wished for. Visit to old home. Visit to home between old home (new york). Limbo lived. Black hole stops in for hello. Hope sits next to him. All things received. All things lost. All things here. hello my love.
Something the younger don't often realize: Love is all. Yes. Love is everything. yes. Love is all around. All desire someone to love them.
All believe someone worthy to love them who loves them will solve all the problems of plato. All believe that they will love this person forever because love received is love indeed. yes.
But, my younger ones: one thing I have learned from the devil is that you must love as well and as fully, and aye there's the rub. Collecting the accolades is fun. It is fabulous to be young and told you are amazing and beautiful. Sucking on the marrow and sustaining self on the corpse of your lover. You fall in love with this love. You love being loved. but you must love as well and as ethically. You must love. Is this at all clear? I want you to learn from my tragedy - from my foibles. (and i'm not in the mood for the obvious comment that the self must be self-loved. I think of that as a crock. Not loving yourself is about as rare as a mother not loving her child. you know this.)