First Kiss

From outside the window he watched as she sat at a booth swirling the plastic straw in her glass mindlessly watching the chips of ice clang against one another.  Slowly and purposefully she placed her hands on the table and stretched her shoulders upward like a preening cat while she effortlessly glanced toward the door allowing her gaze to linger longer than just a moment masking her probing fleeting peek, as she awaited his arrival.

He paused, amused by her forced cool demeanor.  He could sense her restlessness; she fidgeted nervously.  He found it charming.  His eyes were drawn to her hair as it cascaded in soft and loose honey blonde curls playfully caressing the tops of her shoulders.  She softly brushed an errant bang from her right brow, thoughtlessly twirling another strand in her left hand.  She was biting the left bottom of her lip; he knew this to be a nervous habit.  He chuckled, mused to himself - she’s waiting for me.  Unable to tear himself away from his perfect voyeuristic vantage point, he watched as she picked up her phone to check the time.  He had spoken to her earlier that afternoon and could sense her anticipation.  She was thrilled to finally see him and told him as much.  Who was he kidding – he was just as eager to see her.  She gently placed her phone back on the table. 

   
 He walked into the bookstore and purposefully took the long way around so he could approach her from behind.  As he walked up behind her slowly, he watched her as she continued to fidget in her seat.  Although she couldn’t see him, he could see her reflection in the mirror that ran alongside of the booth.  His eyes were drawn immediately to her mouth.  For a moment he was lost in his own thoughts.  This mouth, her mouth is the one that he longed for and couldn’t wait to taste.  He imagined her kisses as soft and tender mirroring her demeanor perfectly. She was kind and gentle, perhaps even softer than anyone truly realized.  She possessed a veiled vulnerability carefully hidden from the world’s invasive view.  He knew it was there; perhaps he instinctively knew.  To him it was evident just from one look into her eyes.  In them he saw a glimpse of sadness and incredible tenderness and warmth; he wondered what pain lurked or was purposely buried deep from the surface.    

       
He quietly approached and stood just behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and bent down to whisper in her ear “I’m here; have you been waiting long?” 

         
As he watched her reaction from the mirror, he saw her eyes close as she leaned back into the booth.  She raised her hand to touch his; a smile formed on her lips and she shook her head no to indicate that she hadn’t been waiting long. His hand still resting on her shoulder, he felt her back tighten up and her shoulders shiver.  Surprised by her unexpected reaction, he turned his glance toward her face to see if he could read her expression when he noticed the goose bumps all up and down her arms.  He smiled and slid into the booth next to her clasping his hand around hers. 

          
The time flew by as they spent the next couple of hours talking and laughing.  Her laugh was infectious and made him want to laugh too.  All the while they conversed he could not stop looking into her eyes.  When her gaze would meet his, her lips would part in a soft genuine smile and she would give his hand a gentle squeeze as she murmured something sweet and heartfelt, “I’m so glad you are here,” or “I could just spend the entire day talking with you,” or “I like holding your hand,” or another comment that clearly indicated her joy in being with him.

     
He then asked, “We’ve been here nearly 2 hours, would you like to go somewhere else and get a bite to eat?” 

      
She shrugged and nodded, asking “If that means I get to spend more time with you, I’d love to.”

       
They rose from the booth and she collected her purse and sweater, swiftly tossing them over her left shoulder and without missing a beat and turned toward the door.  Her haunting blue eyes twinkled with undeniable delight as her gaze met his.  She smiled at him biting her bottom lip as she coyly turned her eyes down; he turned with her to leave, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and steered her toward the door.  When they exited the interior door she stopped abruptly, turned to face him and with both hands took his face into her hands and kissed him longingly.  These were the same sweet lips he imagined; his body ached for the tenderness of her touch and his kiss divulged how much; her lips responded with sweet surrender.  It was right there, that exact moment; the spark ignited - the undeniable chemistry and inexplicable connection that each felt and both recognized in an instant and was revealed with just a kiss, just as she told him it would be.  As if he could read her thoughts and sense her emerging defenselessness, he instinctively turned her around and pressed her back to the adjacent wall of the entryway.  With their arms entwined and her head pressed against his chest, he anticipated and was ready when he felt her body begin to tremble as she nestled against him.  She was in that moment utterly powerless against him; her genuine expression of attraction was unmistakably sincere. 

         
Her voice was quivering as she gasped, “Oh my god, my legs are shaking; how did you do that?” 

         
Smiling, he pulled the body of this delightfully feminine, soft, irresistible woman closer to him and kissed her forehead as he folded his arms around her playfully reminding her, “Isn’t this the kiss you’ve been daydreaming about?”

         
She nodded and mischievously acknowledged, “You’re right, I did mention that.  Oh my, if you can do that to me with just a kiss, I think I may be in a bit of trouble here.  But just to be sure,” she teased, “You should kiss me again.” 

         
He rose to the task; if a passionate kiss was what she desired, a passionate kiss was what she would get he thought to himself.  He steadied her body against the wall and pressed his body firmly against hers.  With one hand around her waist pulling her body into his and the other above her shoulder braced on the wall he leaned his face toward hers.  His lips met hers with vitality, power and desire that she had never experienced before. 

         
Like a white water rafter struggling to stay afloat in gushing, spinning, twisting Class V waters, she felt the same rush of adrenaline flood through her body as he kissed her.  Head spinning, her thoughts raced, who is this intelligent, insanely sexy, driven man who can twist me up so with just a kiss and be victor over each and every one of my defenses; oh heaven help me, I cannot deny him anything he desires.  She quietly acknowledged, if only to herself, that she was his.  Sensing that her knees (and body) were about to give way, he eased the intensity of his kiss slowly and tenderly as he fulfilled her challenge.  He finished with a soft, light, feathery peck along her cheek. 

         
Smiling, he waited for her to finally open her eyes; as they fluttered open, he quizzed teasingly, “Was reality better than your daydream?”  Without waiting for a reply, he chuckled, pulled her hand and started down the sidewalk.  She followed willingly.

Why Do We Hide the Best Part of Ourselves?

In the aftermath of an unrealized love affair when you are left standing in the midst of the wreckage, the first question we ask is how did this happen?  Like accident re-constructionists, we rebuild the crash scene piecing together what forensic evidence still remains and then we use that information to try to figure out what went wrong.  One has this limited opportunity, this small window of time to put the pieces together and question what could have produced a much desired different outcome.
What caused this new hope of yours to find love again crash before it had the chance to grow?  Were you careless?  Did you not take enough time and effort to build a solid base?  Was he not interested or perhaps distracted by another? A myriad of possible scenarios play through your head while you try to make sense out of it all.  The questions are endless, but the trouble is you may never fully understand why this happened or what went wrong.  Often the answers we seek will remain forever out of our reach.
It doesn't mean it is fair; sometimes that's just how the promise of new love goes. We possess incomplete information.  Try as we might to understand every nuance of all the moments shared, we only have part of the story - ours.  Maybe this incompleteness is because we approach the chance to find love so guarded. We know pain and the older we get the harder it is to bounce back after an emotional setback.  So we purposefully hold back, because the stakes are so much higher now and whether we admit it or not, we are quick to cut the cord early and minimize our losses.  Therein lies the problem.
We all remember what it is like to go on a job interview, especially if it is a job we really desire.  In our efforts to land the desired position we put our best foot forward and give 1000% and maybe even make a few concessions along the way if it is our dream job.
Unfortunately many of us do not approach our search for love in the same manner.  We hold back - often out of fear of being rejected or disappointed.  We reveal just enough of ourselves to capture someone's interest, but then hold back the best part of ourselves as we try to build and maintain interest and nurture it along while remaining guarded and safe.  How misguided we are!
All many of us ever search for is that deep soulful connection to that one person who will intimately know who we really are.  Like the song says - "I just want you to know who I am"
I think that's all we can ever really ask of another.

The Purpose of Tears

Often I used to be embarrassed by how easily I could be moved to tears, until now.
A very wise man once told me that "tears are the safety valve of the heart."  Yet I don't think I really understood the magnitude of the meaning of that simple phrase at the time the words were uttered.
Now I understand.
Rather than be embarrassed by my tears, I now see them as nature's healing tool that I have at my disposal anytime the need for them appears.  They are my heart's way of purging the sorrowful emotions from my being so that they can no longer torment and twist my soul into knots.
Very recently I had the occasion to put this wisdom into practice. 
An unrealized romantic hope with so much promise met with a quick and unexpected demise and I was certain my tattered heart was going to break; the pain was surreal producing this heavy lead-like feeling in the middle of your chest that makes even trying to catch your breath difficult.  Dread washes over you like a flash flood inducing downpour threatening to drown everything in its path. With few other options, I stopped resisting the pain and allowed it to envelop me - I let the tears fall.  These weren't silent tears that fall singularly down one or two at a time; these were the mascara smeared down your face drenching the collar of your blouse as you cough and choke on your own saliva kind of tears. The fluid continues to pour out of your eyes and nose and you catch random gulps of air through your mouth in between intermittent wails and sobs. It was not a pretty cry; it was the kind where your face is contorted revealing your pain to all. Yet this cry is rarely ever seen by others; it is the one unleashed when your torment can bear no witness.  It is an ugly soul pummeling cry that brings you to your knees.  
The remnants of an ugly cry like this linger even the next day.  Your face is still red and blotchy and in the place where your blue eyes normally shine through are merely swollen slits of puffed and swollen flesh hiding bloodshot tired eyes that oddly look a little bit brighter today. It's then when you notice; now that the tears have abated your pain has dissipated.  The loss is still felt, but the intensity has been reduced like a safety valve relieves undue pressure.  
The flood waters have receded and now the clean up efforts can commence.

Never Enough

Her smiles were all for others

She found strength and purpose in giving
Now she stands alone

No one to receive

Her smile unnoticed

Unneeded, discarded

As the Darkness envelops her

Ghosts of past wounds re-emerge

From the shadows

Teasing and taunting

Always lurking, waiting

Ready to dispense the crushing blow

Vulnerable with no defense

Her brokenness is no match

For the formidable foe

Spewing the vile evidence

You were NEVER ENOUGH

Turning to walk away
Tears cascade down her cheek

She laughs mockingly without dispute

When a Warrior Falls

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” Plato

 “That which does not destroy, strengthens.” Nietzsche

A peek into the history books will undoubtedly show that many legendary warriors such as Leonidas of Sparta, Genghis Khan, William Wallace, Hannibal Barca, Alexander the Great, Napoleon and countless others share a similar attribute.  Some may argue that timing was on their side; still others may argue that the twisted hand of fate had a bigger stake in their countless victorious destinies.  Still I would have to argue that there was something else at work – it was their respective ability to face adversity and rise to fight again.  They were resilient. 

Who among us doesn’t know those who have had more than their share of upsets, tragedies and shattered dreams?  Not many, if any, of us have escaped a life peppered with such disappointments and setbacks from time to time.  No one ever promised life to be easy.  For some though, it seems as if the storm obliterated the life they fought so hard to build.  Yet for some unfathomable explanation, these tortured souls rise again and trudge forward much to the surprise of those around them.  They overcome economic uncertainty, endure setbacks thrust upon them by others, are forced to vanquish past demons and foes, plan for futures entrenched in ambiguity, and they do so often forced to carefully conceal what is the most noble part of their being – their hearts.  In its bruised and battered condition lies the genius of their unyielding power.    

When a warrior falls, she is not down for long.  To those with a discerning eye, they will see that she gets up and faces the seemingly relentless battle yet another day.  For her rebounding strength was not her birthright, rather her spirit is by nature tender and kind.  Fate determined her lot and labors.  Frightened, weary, and shaken from another disappointing setback, she pulls the torn cloak tightly around herself to shield her bloodied knees and the tattered remnants of her heart.  She clenches her fists, shakes them at the heavens and laughs at the Fates, shouting through her silent sobs,

“I AM HERCULES.”

Did the Microwave Obliterate Love?

The microwave appeared on the scene in the mid 1940s but did not become an American kitchen staple until the mid 1970s.  Essentially it revolutionized meal preparation; meals that formerly took hours in preparation and cooking time could now be available in mere minutes.  Along with that fundamental conversion came a shift in attitudes and expectations as well.  Women no longer had to spend all day slaving in the kitchen to put the evening meal for the family on the table.  At first glance this seems like a monumental improvement and a step toward progress.  But at what cost is the question I ponder.

We can boil water in a minute, have air popped popcorn in just about two minutes and a microwave dinner can be ready in seven minutes or under depending on the wattage (power) of your microwave.  However that rapidity comes at a cost.  With it comes the change of expectations.  We have quickly adapted to the fast-paced demands of our modern day world.  Whether the changing technology presupposed our attitudinal change or our technology just responded to the societal changes of a modern day world is a conversation for another time, but make no mistake about it – these changes have also infiltrated how we approach love and our search for love.

As a little girl I remember my mother and even my grandmother in the kitchen; of course I have other memories of them, but mostly ones centered in or around the kitchen preparing one of many meals for the family.  The kitchen was the center of all of the action.  Meals were prepared; card games were played; guests were entertained; vacations were planned and discussions concerning all important family matters were held – in short it was the nucleus of the family as a single functioning unit.  Grandparents and parents were expected to celebrate golden anniversaries; longevity was the norm not the exception.  If marriages suffered trouble or setbacks, they were repaired and patched not discarded.  Those were the days before we became this fast-paced, disposable, single-serving size microwaveable world that seems to be the new normal of today.

In our haste to get everything fast, it seems that we have forgotten how to let things simmer, slow cook, and we do not watch carefully to prevent our pots from boiling over.  Gone are the days of letting something marinate for hours and heating slowly and thoroughly to maintain tenderness, texture and integrity.

We approach love in the same way – we want it immediately.  Like we scan the drive thru menu of a fast food restaurant, we scan profiles quickly to see if someone has the right ingredients. Are they the right height, body type, hair and eye color?  Is their income level and educational background suitable?  Is their picture pleasing enough to us?  We decide whether someone is or could be a suitable match by giving them little more than a cursory online glance and then if they pass some ideal we have in our mind then perhaps an exchange of emails, texts, perhaps a phone call or two and then a face-to-face meeting is pursued.

A profile doesn’t show how a person will stand by you in a crisis, nor does it show if they will quickly come to your aid when you are troubled, or if they will forgive you when you have angered them.  It also doesn’t show if a person can make you smile, even if is at yourself, if they can find joy in the simple ordinary tasks of daily living or if their consoling embrace washes away all the trials of your day.  No – a profile shows none of these things; only time does.  Like the time to slow cook a pork roast for Sunday dinner, patience and time is required to learn these things about a person. 

Unfortunately we will not achieve our goal of finding and keeping love with rapid fire techniques and quickly discarding those who at first glance do not meet our artificial standards unless we slow down and take the time to let love simmer, long and slow.

Stillness

As an introverted person by nature, often I purposely seek out stillness, solitude and quiet; it brings me peace, calms my spirit and allows me to recharge when the world seemingly takes so much from me and I feel like I am running on empty.  But in the wee hours this morning I neither welcomed nor embraced the stillness – in fact it was deafeningly loud, indifferent, impersonal, and left me feeling cold and alone.

At 3:30 in the morning it is incredibly quiet as the world slumbers; the noise of the previous day has passed and the dawning new day has yet to stir.  Even though you know in only a couple of hours the silence will pass, the overwhelming quiet can be a bit disconcerting.  It is then that you are reminded of your aloneness.  You are slapped in the face with the simple reality that there is no one is your bed – no one to bring you comfort, no one to hold you when you are feeling fragile and no one to keep you firmly entrenched in the present moment should you disappear too far into your protective yet isolating shell.  Sometimes that is what the stillness feels like; it feels like the world is collapsing in on itself and you are immobile, unable to get out of the way and soon you will be swallowed whole and simply vanish without a trace. 

To shield you from the impersonal and sometimes suffocating world words do not necessarily need to be spoken, nor does he even need to reach out and touch you to bring you comfort; in fact you only need reassurance that he is there and that can be found simply by listening to him breathe or gently touching his arm, shoulder or back as he slumbers away peacefully like the rest of the world.  Just knowing he is there brings you adequate enough comfort.    

That is probably the hardest part of dating, that in-between stage one finds oneself in – the one where you are between relationships or not in a committed relationship and you unfortunately do not have that one person you can reach out to when on that rare occasion you find yourself needing comfort and reassurance.  It isn’t often that you find yourself in such a place, but when you do, it is nice to know that someone else will be there for you should the need arise.   

As one who lives by myself I spend a considerable amount of my time alone and for the most part I cherish the quiet “me time” it allows; oftentimes I feel like it allows me to accomplish so much more than I could otherwise.  But every so often like this morning the need to connect to another human being is inescapable and the quiet eerie stillness magnifies that void.  Today time was my friend and the deafening stillness passed within a couple of hours and all was well, even though mercilessly quiet, in my world again.  

Do Our Experiences Shape Us?

Who are we really? 

Are we a reflection of our hopes, dreams and our most noble aspirations?

Or are we just the sum total of every moment we experience?

According to Channing Tatum’s character Leo in the movie “The Vow” it is the latter.  In fact his words verbatim were:  “The thing is each one of us is the sum total of every moment that we ever experience, with all the people we've ever known.  And it's these moments that become our history.”

If this is true do all our joyful, blissful and even our heart wrenching experiences make each of us who we are on this journey?  If it does; it could have far-reaching implications.    
As an educator I am constantly surprised by young people; mostly I am amazed at their capacity for hope – their hope for what is to come next.  It isn’t that they lack fear; I think they may have fear, but their limited experience has left them unjaded by fear.  Their blind faith is astonishing and so very brave.

Maybe that is what we lack as middle aged people seeking love again.  We lack the blind faith that we possessed in our youth.  We have forgotten how to embrace that hope that things will somehow work out as we stand comfortably on the dock just dipping our toe in the water rather than taking that running jump and leaping blindly into the unknown.  

Our painful experiences have taught us that we are indeed vulnerable; we are not invincible as we thought ourselves to be in our younger days.  And that flies exactly in the face of what love demands.

Love by its very essence is the ultimate act of blind faith and hopeless confidence.  It is the unwavering steadfast belief that one person holds the key to your happiness and promises to deliver it.  The trouble is that because we are here on this journey searching for love we have obviously all suffered disappointment and disillusionment and have firsthand experience that the promise of love doesn’t always deliver. 

So why on earth would we or could we ever trust it again?  So we approach it with caution and apprehension taking care not to expose too much of ourselves and we keep suitors at arms length to protect ourselves against further pain and anguish.  Experience has taught us (self-protection) well.  Who could blame us for the trepidation evident in our actions?

I suppose we cannot ever escape our past, especially the disappointments, the mistakes and the pain.  But perhaps we should reframe our history.  Just as scholars study history so the mistakes of the past are not repeated, so can we.  We are not doomed to become failures in the arena of love again.  We can and should learn from previous errors and missteps in our earlier romances.  Own our role in love’s past failures. 

It is only then can we be certain to not repeat those perilous events again and hope can be restored.  

My Heart Knows the Way

My heart knows the way

From the beginning it knew warmth
It knew love that shone as brightly as the sun with nary a cloud in sight
As it depended upon another for sustenance and protection
While its strength and roots were forming to one day stand alone

My heart knows the way
Newly formed buds open to reveal strong supple petals
Bursting forth with vibrant color and intoxicating fragrance
Learning when to bend as to not break when the storm appears
Some days listless, but each day growing more brilliant and radiant

My heart knows the way
Exploding bouquet of promise to entice nature’s bounteous feast
Hearing a joyful song that only our two hearts know
Dancing, swaying in time with the gentle breeze embracing my stem
Mesmerized by the gracefully choreographed fluttering of his wings

My heart knows the way
Untold joy of surrender and communion with feathered friend
Nurturing another blossom than flourishes from mine
Bursting with uncompromising encouragement and tenderness
As the much anticipated pristine shoot emerges

My heart knows the way
Gray clouds and gale force winds uproot me
Battered, crushed and discarded into a heap in the murky abyss
Darkness is welcomed hiding the lifeless empty void
Moonbeams usher in stillness and quiet that whisper a hushed lullaby

My heart knows the way
Daylight returns with a renewed vigor marred by an undeniable longing
Roused by a familiar melody, one filled with promise and hope
Mercy and grace soften the once resplendent garden
Awaiting the reunion with a faithful feathered friend

Is Loneliness an Essential Aspect of Being Human?

Was existentialist philosopher Sartre right?

As we journey through life trying to find meaning for ourselves and find our purpose for being we are reminded of the vastness and expansiveness of our seemingly impersonal world.  We are but mere specks in an infinite swirling indifferent cosmos.  The divergence of those two opposing ideas places us in a near perfect existential crisis.  How could it not – I mean we “define” or make meaning by looking at a particular object in its relation to another or in conjunction with another.  So then how do you define oneself in relation to vastness or “nothingness?”  Trying to fathom the answers to this age old existential conundrum makes my head hurt and my heart ache.  

Are we doomed as part of the human condition to be lonely?  I mean wouldn’t many who subscribe to an existential view of the world argue this to be true: we come into this world alone, traverse through it trying to find our way oftentimes alone without a partner, and we ultimately die alone.  To sum it up, we: enter – alone, journey – alone, and die – alone.  So if this is in fact our “destiny”, why do we keep on searching for connections to others to escape what will eventually become our inescapable reality?

I do not have a definitive answer to this paradox; I only pose the question as I myself try to find my way along this bliss seeking journey.  But I can say with a reasonable degree of certainty, I do it for love – I search for that connection because I understand the transformative power of love and want to feel it again.  Quite honestly, there is nothing in the world quite like it.  For me being in that blissful state makes me a better person.  I’m calmer, more focused, more forgiving, more compassionate, and it forces me outside of myself to consider the needs of my significant other when making life’s important decisions and choices.  In short, I am no longer just an I (single); I am a we (couple), a part of something bigger.  I would hope that I bring something to the table for my partner too.  I would hope that I enrich his life and bring out his better qualities and make him a better version of himself.

Now think about that – being in love forces us outside of ourselves.  In our union with our partner we escape the solitary and enjoin with another who is part of the universe, so we essentially do exist then in the “other” state and are no longer confined to the destiny of our aloneness.  So can love trump and debunk the most basic existentialist precepts?     

While I won’t offer a Pollyannaish response saying that love conquers all (which it may), I will stand firm behind this – it does make our journey so much more bearable.  It breaks up the periods of aloneness we must endure into interludes peppered with communal bliss and contentment.

Now I suppose the real challenge will be finding that “other” who spurns the desire within you to be your best self and graciously and completely accept the needs, wants, and aspirations of your new we (couple) status as primary over your I (single) needs, wants and aspirations.  Like I intimated before, no one said this journey was going to be easy.  The truth is few will probably ever realize the type of connection I speak of and will indeed be relegated to the loneliness that permeates the human condition.

I find that incredibly agonizing and not acceptable, at least not for me.  It is not a choice that I would willingly make and isn't that really the heart of the matter.  Can we choose to love?  Could it be that easy?  Psychologist Robert Sternberg in his “triangular theory of love” seems to think so.  Its three components intimacy, passion and commitment are all present in consummate love which he posits is the ideal relationship people strive for and is love in its most complete form. 

I can tender only these words: Never give up.    

The Rain Washes Over Me

~The Rain Washes over Me~

When the rain comes I find myself exposed. 

I didn’t expect the storm this time. 

The dark clouds rolled in swiftly to pillage my warmed soul.

I felt the Sun and its warmth gently kiss my face and I was drunk with anticipation. 

The shimmer nourished the dark cold recesses of my slumbering spirit.

It only peeked from behind its hiding place for a few brief moments, but that is all it took. 

I knew in an instant the power and strength of its magnetism. 

Just as unexpectedly as the dazzling rays shone so brightly, they quickly waned.

In the brilliance my scars were no longer hidden by the cloak of sorrow.

Raw and hideous like Pan, even Apollo recoiled aghast with provocation. 

The indifferent rain suspends my foolish reverie.

With outstretched arms and my face toward the heavens I welcome the rain.

Cleansing tears from angels above wash over my brokenness.

Rinse free the stains of despair and restore the promise of paradise.

Without concession the clouds linger, the rain engulfs and washes away the anguish.

Serenaded by the sweet song of hope and clarity sweet ambrosia and nectar nourish me.

Renewed and radiant, I await the Sun. 

Is Love Impossible to Find Again?

I think I finally understand why there are so many single people.  Although many will say it's a choice to remain single, the truth is - it's hard to find love.

Perhaps hard is a bit of an understatement- I'm starting to wonder if it's next to impossible.  Now let us not mistake finding physical companionship with finding love.  I think it's quite easy to find the former and I think many resign themselves to continuing down that particular path jumping from casual encounter to the next casual encounter to stave off the incredible overwhelming feelings that inevitably come from being alone.  Frankly I think it's a coward's way out.  Sure one may feel a momentary reprieve from the loneliness and emptiness that plagues so many singletons, but it is a poor substitute to that deep soulful connection that is spiritually, physically and emotionally so gratifying.

So what is one to do?  How do you quiet that dream of having love again?  How do you fill the void that remains in a heart that once flourished in love?  How do you keep the faith that another opportunity will come?  How can you unlearn that magic that is only realized when you totally lose yourself to another?  

Sadly I do not have answers - just questions, unanswered questions.

~ Sometimes ~

Sometimes the quiet is deafening; 
it drowns out the melody of contentment.
Sometimes the emptiness creates a vacuum 
that threatens to obliterate the trophies showcased from an industrious life.
Sometimes the yearning rips an already tattered soul 
to limits beyond comprehension.
Sometimes someone walks into the midst of the storm 
and brings a welcomed momentary respite.
Sometimes a hush falls over the tormented night 
and for a moment ever passionate bliss dances again.

Her Unfinished Story

Finding oneself alone in the autumn of one’s life can be scary.  Just the thought of wandering out again into the dating world can seem like the most daunting of tasks.  But I unwittingly discovered a way to make the journey more palatable, besides lots of good wine and side-splitting laughter, I started to think of my life as my unfinished story.  No it is not going to end the way I thought it would, but now I am in control of the ending, a new revised ending.  Just that subtle shift of re-framing my situation into a story with a different ending, ripe with possibilities makes it much more palatable.  Does it take away the fear – HELL NO, but it does give me the courage I need to go out there and steel my nerves while I steady my pen to write the best chapters yet.  And this new story is hopeful and may even have room for a plucky sidekick.