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“Be careful what you wish for.”
I wish for you to have what you want, all of it. Not, never, to give others what they want, as if you didn’t matter.
I wish for you to be happy, truly, madly, blissfully, happy-without-opposite, happy.
I wish for you to have a husky named Butch with two different coloured eyes, and a Aussie named Sundance to run along behind you and laugh canine smiles.
I wish for you to have winters with pastel worlds of stardrops, night-cold snow-flecks against your boots.
And if there’s room for one more, tiny wish, I wish for the smallest corner of your heart, and hope nothing more than for you to be happier for it, Schmaltz and all.
Whether it’s careful or not; that’s what I wish.
I lost a night, last night.
I had the last drink I will take for the rest of my life. (Extraordiary circumstances aside.)
It costs to drink; and the price is far too dear.
[Editor's note: I'd rather the lady not read this. As a certain showman said: "Someone took the cork out of my lunch." ]
Ah well.
Another relationship returned to friendship; this last with a lady of charm and wit, a beguiling minx who I savored time with; a woman who could keep pace with me, outflank me from time to time, and always keep me on my toes.
In short, an equal, someone to laugh and run with, not around. One I care about. And slips of my tongue; my failings; a series of poor habits, fitted to a lost soul, and it is at an end. She killed it, too worn by relationships past to deal with another damaged boy. The result? A weekend cut short, a vituperative thought toward those who wore her so…and entirely too much melodrama.
She asked if I was all right, after. Yes, and no.
Yes, I will build anew. Go forth and conquer new shores, plunder riches of kings, wooden sword in hand, all a-grin with the sheer joy of living.
No, I will not see her like; she is a rare bird, a Phoenix, a companion like no other. I do not know her, but know that I would have liked to. I just wish I saw her in flight…and as something other than friend. Someone to lay down by, to stand with, to rely and be relied upon.
Here, to return to a blue-cheese olive and fine Italian vermouth, a crushed bit of mint, a sigh in a glass. [It's been a while since I mulled the world in the swirl-armed galaxy of gin.]
She dances, and claims it was her issues. I…..
Bah. We are friends again, and I will content with that.
On to other things, and, perhaps, New York?
I’ve been in a very maritime state of mind lately. (Seeing an excellent movie set in Boston only bostered this.) It’s been too long since I took a boat out so far that the only things in sight were waves and the occasional albatross; sat back and savored the wildest part of nature.
Nothing quite like watching a storm rush over the sea, lightning shattering the waves, sheets of rain sweeping the deck. [Though that's far more fun from a boat than a rowing hull.] I’ve not seen the high seas in too long, and I miss ‘er.
On that note:
