That love was a tempest. So deeply chemical. Molecular. Some pages I just can’t turn. Or at least it sure seems so. It’s like that giant stone in the garden that has to go. I can’t seem to slide my fingers underneath to get a grip. Tendered fingers clawing through muddied sharp gravel. Where is the bottom of it all? How deep, wide and heavy. Once there, I’m sure I can pry it up. Longing for that satisfying dramatic slurp as mud’s glue gives way to shear will. Perhaps this garden should flow around it? I again grab the hose as if it was a new idea. “Let water’s way loosen up this madness.” The cat perches nearby wondering who I am talking to. Thumb to spout, I focus this stream to see if it helps. Through the gushing, I remind myself of the whole story. How she drove sixteen hours to surprise me. Boy that sure worked. I sent her off with some chardonnay and a funny story about Pluto. If there was a song “The situation was different” it would have played in the background. Years have passed, but never that night. Today, it kicks me still. I found her single in the Fall. She tells me there is nothing left to say. Her phone rings empty. No funny stories. I stand a man convicted of loyalty. How cold it is, out here with Pluto. At one time, we were both considered something. We both chuckle at the happenstance. Perhaps it is better this way. I feel daisy’s push as I return to digging. I wave a magic finger as moon draws closer. She whispers, “The thing about pages is you only have so many.” I retort jesting, “Shut-up and hand me that shovel!”
i want to say that i understand but i actually don’t. your writing leaves me guessing and wondering. sometimes i wish you could give context but then again the mystery keeps my mind dwelling on the thoughts you have proposed…
regardless of whether I fully understand the happenings, the thing you always convey so beautifully is the emotion of a moment. no mean feat.
maybe you should have gone for a second bottle of chardonnay. i hear that the grove park has two for one deals. well written mi amigo.
I tried digging out the rock. I tried letting the garden float around it. I was endlessly creative in thinking up new ways to hold on. Finally I wore myself out once and for all, and let go.
Your writing is beautiful.