love

One Day I’ll Be Fine With That

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Don’t leave me now, you might love me back
Distance is fine, I know you can’t care
And nothing is big like that
You don’t see me now, I don’t see you back
One day I’ll be fine with that
You don’t leave me now
Do you love me back?



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Tell Me True

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Of all the dalliances I’ve had, this boy is the most, shall we say, puppy dog like. Maybe it’s the age thing, the younger they are, the more needy they seem.

The distance doesn’t help, of course. I find myself giving out reassurances that I may not be able to sustain, so I stopped giving them. Unsurprisingly, this did not go over well on the other side of the ocean. There was radio silence for days. And then there was that one night we were messaging, when he sends me a missive: “Tell me you do not love anyone.”

That made me pause, mid-key. I’ve just been given a sort of ultimatum, and the skittish girl in me wanted to run, fast. But then I thought, if I do not love anyone, that makes for such a sad life. If I do have a love and it’s someone else, that will not be palatable to him as well. Maybe it’s the grammar that needs work, some nuance lost in translation, but I get the feeling he is looking for something that may not be there. And so, there is no happy answer to that bit of chat, no emoticons that can ease the heart into believing all is well.

That’s the flip side of asking for the truth, you might learn more than you care to know.

Skinny Love

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For some time now, I have been dancing the dodgy two-step with this guy — an older man who is by turns charming, irascible, and sometimes, just plain tired. Together, we skim the surface of things, unlikely conspirators in a plot to eke out a little happiness.

I’m not entirely sure how I stumbled upon this bit of a dalliance, this little preoccupation. There was that phone call in the middle of the night. He made me laugh and yell at him until about 2 in the morning. I couldn’t make up my mind then if I liked his gruff manner. But the next night he called again, and it was hours before the phones got turned off. We call or Skype each other most everyday now. Sometimes he just grunts at me over the phone, at a loss for words. I kind of like that.

Details began to emerge, photos were swapped, bits and pieces got shuffled around to make room for us. This little preoccupation, it passes the time. It consumes me just enough to make me feed the fire day by day, to tend to it just so to preserve the spark. It is what urban kids nowadays call a ‘skinny love.’  A love that’s not fleshed out enough to be substantial, not solid enough to be defined as a sure thing, or as anything.

I don’t mind it, I mean not too much. There is a connection here that I can appreciate, no matter how tenuous, no matter how brief. But, the both of us, we’re not bothered too much by it. There are no unreasonable demands on time, no shallow arguments, no intrusions into privacy, no intense moments of feeling as though your heart will explode. None of that nonsense.

No, it does not eat us up. It is, after all, just a skinny love.

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Accounting, But Not Adding Up

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And so even with my dread of numbers, I find that the ruminations of the day need to be addressed numerically, if only to shore up with logic that which does not abide by it. Today I am finished with work duties, and my mind meanders to thoughts that I have been avoiding all the long weekend. Numbered for convenience but never sequentially, here’s the state of my being.

3 – glances from strangers last week, as though they know me, and then 3 glances away.

1 – whom I wish were dead remains all too near, and by all appearances, not dying anytime soon.

787 – the number of times I think friends have taken advantage of my kindness/graciousness.

2 – my kid’s teeth that have come out ahead of time while baby teeth are still hanging steady.

2 – cellphones lost and two new ones bought as replacements. One given to me by the universe.

4 – unread books on the shelf, mocking me and my pretense of not having time to read.

2 – men I love/have loved are now oceans away from me, and I do not know if any of this at all matters.

3 – redesigns made on this blog, before I arrived at this one. All excuses to avoid actual posting.

12 – episodes watched of Bones, season 4, all in one sitting.

22 – mini meatballs I made over the weekend and forgot to photograph for the food blog that I do not update.

What does all this add up to, I wonder? Randomness that boings back and forth into the universe?  I maintain that I couldn’t care less whether or not I make an audible ping out there.  It’s just that lately, the universe seems to be applying a vastly different equation to me.