Wednesday Morning Coffee Love

If an alien from another galaxy asked me about love, I would tell him to imagine the craziest thing and then multiply it by infinity. I would warn him as to how dangerous a thing it was, and how wars have been fought over the stuff and countless hearts have been crushed inside its grasp. I would let him know there are people who search for it their entire lives and never find it. And how there are people who wish they had never found it. I would liken it to jumping off the moon, sans gravity, and diving head first into the oceans below.

And when he asked me the obvious question . . .why? Why do humans yearn for something so crazy and dangerous as love? I would just smile before replying, “Because our bodies were made from the earth, but our souls were born to fly.”

It is within the extravagant mysteries of a universe that each and every moment is created. It created mine through the pulse of a story about the end of the world. And how ironic a thing that the end of one world was the beginning of another. Because that’s where love happened, in the telling of a story about living and dying, music and mortality . . . the here and the not here. Love was busy introducing itself inside the soft hums of labor that were unleashing themselves inside every provocative sounding verb, until the light of day caught its bloom and named it after the two of us.

And so we wrote, together. We wrote a love story whose madness was a brilliant tease for what was really going on between each line; as fiction became something less so and reality became the kind of fantasy you only see in movies. And so from the writing, we offered precious little sips of our respective worlds. I only found the nerve to tell her the good parts of me; afraid that sharing more might send her running. She cured me of this fear by sharing more of herself. Our fears lessened as our familiarity with each other grew.

I could sense it in her voice, that she had been waiting for someone to walk through that door for a very long time. But the something in her voice was also quite clear that she didn’t need me, or any other man to define her. This was a good thing, because I dig a woman who knows herself.

When we talked, everything in my head went quiet. I was convinced hers was the voodoo of ancient rituals. I would stare at her picture as we spoke on the phone and I would lose myself in her smile. That smile of hers was like an IV drip of sunshine straight into my veins. Her voice was this sensuous purr that made me tremble. It was as if she dipped each syllable in honey, because they reminded me of every Van Morrison song that ever caught fire. And her laugh . . . .it was the kind of laugh you leave the lights on for. Like . . forever.

They say that ninety percent of human interaction is non-verbal, and I would have to agree. Because we had a knack for turning texts into jam sessions and emails into advanced placement classes on pop culture. We made a glorious sound together, even when we did not utter a single word.

Of course, there were potholes along the yellow brick road, and when we ran across them it was as if that famous poet/philosopher Rudy Francisco was talking to us when he bitched about Cupid being fucking irresponsible. It was inside these times that old wounds became echoes and windows became reminders and the past seemed a prologue in spite of all those wonderful ‘coincidences’ wrought of sunflowers and stardust.

The absence of her was like watching a dandelion lose its mind in the wind, scattering a thousand seeds worth of memories across my everyday. Because she followed me wherever I went and there was no escaping her. And here’s the thing, I didn’t want to escape her. I wanted to be that vulnerable. As if to remind myself that ours was no ordinary thing. That it was different, unique.

And so, from the spaces in between she kept me company in my heart and in my mind. When a friend would tell me of their romantic entanglement, I would think of her. Or when I chilled to a certain song, she would be there inside the lyrics . . dancing. First thing in the morning, last thing at night.

Our separation, it was like our hearts had skinned their knees. But this was a good thing, because not having training wheels or elbow pads allowed our scars to tell a story. And ours was worth telling. And so we owned the bloody and the scabs and we could own the healing. And if the only thing we gained in staying was each other? Well my God, that was plenty and so very much more.

If I could tell that alien one more thing about love, it would be this. Try. No matter the odds, no matter the risk. Because in the trying is where you will find the some kind of wonderful that no other potion in the world can match. Because loving someone is the most exhilarating form of danger known to man. Because knowing how it feels? Is everything.

That’s how I feel, when she’s around. She makes me feel like Broadway. She makes me feel like I could swim the oceans. She makes me dance while standing still. She makes me feel like I could miss twenty three balls in a row at the batting cages and she would flash me this winning smile as if I just hit a home run in the ninth inning of a World Series game.

Maybe love stays, and maybe love can’t and maybe it shouldn’t. And maybe . . just maybe, love arrives exactly when it was supposed to. And maybe I need her. The way that big moon needs that open sea.

Like that. Entirely.

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22 thoughts on “Wednesday Morning Coffee Love

  1. You spoke this into sunflowers… sunflowers that have the audacity to grow when everything around them is ugly. Makes me want to put my hair in a tight French braid, go to Starbucks, order the first thing I see on the menu, and listen to all my favorite Beatles songs. 🙂

    Like FF said above, all good things (including love) are worth waiting for. If something’s worth saving, you keep holding on. I know that contradicts what I wrote about letting go, but there is nothing rational about love…it’s clumsy, it stutters, it trips…and yes! Cupid IS fucking irresponsible! Love isn’t always magic. Love is scary, it’s reckless, I mean, to me it is, maybe not to everyone, but that’s me, I’m a bit of an introvert. I end up holding these words and these feelings far too tightly to my own chest, and I get scared sometimes and I run… but I always try to leave the door open behind me because everyone needs one room to come home to. That makes a lot of people uncomfortable and unsure how to feel around me. Maybe if I ate more turnips I’d be more grounded, haha. But I don’t need defining. I don’t need saving. I don’t need my flaws airbrushed. And I don’t need someone to put me back together when I come undone. “It is no measure of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society.” Maybe I need someone with a handful of broken pencils and a pocket full of breadcrumbs, someone to leave the lights on … and the door open.

    Yes, sometimes love stays, and sometimes love leaves, sometimes love even seems like it dies… and I know that this is gonna sound weird, but remember we are not created or destroyed, we are constantly transferred, shifted and renewed. Nothing ever really dies, it just…passes on. It goes back to the wind, it goes everywhere, it goes everywhere, it goes everywhere, it goes everywhere, and eventually–because nothing is ever really lost–it finds us again. So leave the lights on. Leave the door open too. ❤

    • One of the things a lot of us earthlings do when we find love is, we overthink it. Rather than be grateful for its presence, we tend to ask questions such as “How did I get so lucky?” or “Will this love last?”. It’s not for us to question though. It’s for us to bathe in, like a hot bath at the end of a long day. Just let it go, let it be, embrace it for all the many things it makes us feel.

      Maybe falling for someone doesn’t make any sense, maybe it’s totally crazy and completely illogical. But all of the things that don’t make sense in this world, it would seem to me that love would be a pretty fine place to hang your hat.

      Thank you Mad Science 😉

  2. Looks like you got somebody bad.

    The heartiest of congratulations are in order for both of you. She’s a lucky lady!

    Caramel limbs, indeed.

    • As I listened to this song (Love Nick!), I wrote my thoughts on the matter.

      My soul explodes in moments too big to understand, so I rhythm the expanse into words whose Longfellow is playing an electric guitar on the Cliffs of Moher inside the world’s last night. And here the stars come, falling into our laps and opening up wide like sunflowers. They’re juicy and plump, filled with all the secrets of eternity, and we smile as if the history of the world had been one big play. Written entirely for us.

      Yep, it’s that kind of groovy. The feeling.

      Thank you for saying how do, A!

      Love Nick Cave!

  3. Wow, this is wonderful! Non-fiction? A true love story? No one could make that stuff up without the primal experience, not even dashing Cayman. I love how you bring aliens into it, as aliens are about as mystical and unexplainable as love itself.

    • KJ,

      Now, come on. You know I don’t kiss and tell. But of course you’re right . . it’s true.

      As primal and dashing as I may be, I ain’t got a story unless I got a story. And I ain’t got nothing but stories from here. Plenty of ’em. Sorry. Cayman literally took over my body for a few seconds there. He’s quicker to the system than a Long Island Iced Tea served up by a bartender on his final shift.

      And hey, sorry about that whole Sawx/Yankees fib I told you. I really have no idea what’s going on as far as standings are concerned. I was tempted to place a wager with you on who wins the East, but I really don’t feel like losing, so maybe next year.

      You caught that! Yes . . . aliens and love. Not since Sigourney went all up in ‘ma business back in the day have I considered such a thing. But nice catch, Bahstahn.

      Peace and Mookie Betts

      • Tis all good, Cayman. Happened to see that my boyz are in first place–at least, they were as of last night. Sure that won’t last much longer, but happy to see they at least made a go of it.

        Love the love story. World needs more of ’em.

        • Looks like you’re keeping up with the season the same way I am . . not as closely as in years past, lol. All I know for certain is that Aaron Judge is a freak of nature, and the Yankees are hanging on to wild card hopes. I don’t see any real threat to your Bosox, at least until the postseason.

          The world DOES need more love stories. And thank you for the props, much. 🙂

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