Some things in life are worth doing it again. The exactness of that feeling will never come again, but, the joy? Does it matter when the joy is still there? What if it can be better? You can be happier? You can count your blessing and your joys and not have any fingers left over? Have you reached the pinnacle of life as you know it, or perhaps even exceeded the passion and your true meaning?
My brother met the woman of his dreams later in life. He was almost forty years old and had been married once upon a time, but neither were happy and it reflected in their lives, so they parted friends while that was still possible. Many years later, he happened upon his love. Do you believe in love at first sight? He used to say, "She is perfect for me" I cannot imagine life without her." But, how is that possible? You just met. Yet, it still continued, and even after four years, he never doubted their love. In his heart, she is free from imperfection, and all she sees are stars. A match made in heaven.
And then there was you. It’s true.
Drawing my heart. Close.
I can never forget.
I’ve known you forever. And yet.
How is it? We've just met.
Dear Tess, know that you are loved because therein lies the truth. It keeps my heart a kindle, its warmth consumed in whole.
Love, David
( a note in her lunch bag, two days ago)
Last night, Tess passed away in her sleep. She was forty-three years old.
The golden sunset of life, shadowing me from reality. It whispers of change in the tide, but, it doesn’t change the fact that I cannot breathe without you. May you rest in peace, Tess. David misses you already.
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted... Ecclesiastes 3:1
All I have are my words, armed in my mind, written in pen, stand by stand. Oh, yes. Still by hand. It has a different feel. Altered not by keys, backspace, and delete, I write, erase, tear it to pieces and start all over again. And again.
It’s my way. I walk out to the deep end of the page and dive right in.
How Do I Love Thee?
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barret Browning
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