Friday, June 26, 2009

Love love love

Today will be about love. Love like the torrential rain that comes after days of dry air and wind so hot they wither even the hairs on your arms. Love like you.

At last, you came, with the dawn. You've come again, and again left in your place and empty space. Where have I heard this before? Somewhere far away, somewhere in the city of fogs perhaps. I use this phrase to describe what is mine but this phrase is not mine, and I don't know who it belongs to. To the wind now, I suppose. Who knows where it came from, I don't remember, and it will probably continue on after this, it probably has already continued onto elsewhere at the same time that it made its fleeting stop here.

But, enough about the phrase. The subject. The subject always seems to be that of loss and recovery, but the recovery always seems to be lost again. I had him. Then I lost him. Now I had him, but I'm afraid I've lost him again. I'm always afraid of loosing him. But it is not him that I am afraid to loose, even if it is true that I am afraid of loosing him, because the other is always replaceable, an-other will do, like when I lost him for the first time, I went out and replaced him with another, and when I lost him again, I found several others to take the space he left behind. Rather it seems to be the loosing that I am afraid of. Always afraid, always loving as if I am forever at the moment before I loose love, before love leaves me cracked and empty.

But love has a funny way of being. Love can be big and it can wrap its arms around you warm and tender like a mother's breasts, but love can also prick and prod and pound you to the ground. But love, whatever form it takes and however shape it fills, is always fickle. It comes to you unheeded, unannounced, sometimes it creeps up on you and catches you unawares until one day you suddenly realized you've been loving all this time without knowing. It also leaves as quickly and sneakily as it comes. One night you wake up and feel empty and suddenly know, or not for a great long while (because some would go on living their lives exactly as they always do without knowing that love has left them and they would live unknowingly like this for a very very long time, some even die without knowing) that you no longer have love.

Like this morning, at 4 a.m I woke up from a dream and asked love where'd you go? Where'd you go last night when you weren't in bed with me? Were you out gambling? I know you. You gamble because you hurt. You gamble to make up for the loves you've squandered and the loves you want but don't have. You gamble because you've been poked through and through and through. I know, and I understand, and I forgive. Just don't gamble with me. Don't gamble with what I've given, what I've worked so hard to gather and build for us. Love, what you and I have borne together, use them as gifts, for you to make more love, to proliferate, to duplicate, to clone. Clone yourself, and throw yourselves to the wind. Don't worry, when I need to, when the time requires, I will gather all of you up and plant you deep in me, root first like a seedling.

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