P.S. I Love(d) You...

Love Letters Unsent

"Rough Mix" to be uploaded this early morning…

7ove Not Found

This heart could not be found.

You might have misinterpreted an indirect compliment.

So change is coming.

New creativity is emerging.

But as Banks said, “We do not have to brag on it.”

The Book of Revelation

In say… a day or two… P.S. I Love(d) You…

Will cease to exist in its present form.

I have new projects.

I went to London. Ended up in Paris with someone whose Pitch is not always Perfect… and made memories.

He has a humor about Him. Amidst a brain filled with foreign bodies… I began to take advantage of blessings.

(Lord forgive me)

As humans… we are quite obnoxious. Each and every one of us.

I wanted between 800 & 820 to sign on for creativity. Imagine that. Creativity. Divine. Blessed. Simple. Yet I made it complicated.

They countered last month with 790. I balked. “I do not need to budge” was my mentality. And I do not…

What is 790 to me?


But amusingly… that is not the point. Less than a week ago they dropped down to 730…

Final offer.

They were not playing.

And immediately… after all of my time in life… with wisdom as the goal…

I realized… that it was not about a number. Who am I to place a blessing… on a figure?

(Like I said… He has a sense of humor… and it is lovely)

I laughed.
I sought forgiveness for my thinking…

And they said, “767.”

I took it.

And so we begin.

All that I want…
I have.

All that I need…

I already have.

Worth… tied to numbers.

I had lost my way without even realizing it.

Anything that I do not need…

I give away, freely.

It is time for a new beginning.

It is a given that I will make mistakes, once again.

And I will be too hard on myself because that is simply the way that I am.

Most desire to live 1 perfect day…

I desire… to live… a perfect life.

So change is coming.
New creativity is emerging.
But as Banks said, “We do not have to brag on it.”

I seek to change the world…

I shall.

So goodbye to this specific chapter in my life.
But what will be given… shall be extraordinary.

And P.S.

I Love(d) You…



For Her.

This is the true and impossible story of my very great love. In the hope that she will not read this and reproach me, I have withheld many telling details: her name, the particulars of her birth and upbringing, and any identifying scars or birth marks. All the same, I cannot help but write this for her, to tell her “I am sorry for every word I wrote to change you, I am sorry for so many things. I could not see you when you were here and, now that you are gone, I see you everywhere.” One may read this and think it is magic, but falling in love is an act of magic, so is writing. It was once said of Catcher In The Rye, “That rare miracle of fiction has again come to pass: a human being has been created out of ink, paper and the imagination.” I am no J.D. Salinger, but I have witnessed a rare miracle. Any writer can attest: in the luckiest, happiest state, the words are not coming from you, but through you. She came to me wholly herself; I was just lucky enough… to be there to catch her.

London Falling…

If you spend all of your time planning for the future,
you will miss out on the present life
that is happening all around you…

right now.

Keep your excitement in the present;
you will look back on your staid life years from now…

and wish you had reveled more in those wonderful, just-started moments… instead of obsessively planning…

The next steps.

(Where you may fall in…)

The He[art] Walk

For a long while now I have suspected the connection with another person, real connection, simply is not possible. I am curious if you disagree, although I suspect you feel as I do in this, as you do in so many other things. So tell me; is it possible to truly know another person? Is it even a worthwhile pursuit?

Yours is the only opinion I will trust, the only point of view that holds even the faintest interest. I find my diversions, as I always do, but the days are long in this grey place.

I dearly hope you will write soon.

Ever Yours,

1:43 (AM in London)

They are both convinced

that a sudden passion joined them.

Such certainty is beautiful

but uncertainty is more beautiful still.

Since they had never met before, they are sure

that there had been nothing between them.

But what is the word from the streets, staircases, hallways –

perhaps they have passed each other by a million times?

I want to ask them

if they do not remember –

a moment face to face

in some revolving door?

perhaps a “sorry” muttered in a crowd?

a curt “wrong number” caught in the receiver? –

but I know the answer.

No, they do not remember.

They would be amazed to hear

that Chance has been toying with them

now for years.

Not quite ready yet

to become their Destiny,

it pushed them close, drove them apart,

it barred their path,

stifling a laugh,

and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals

even if they could not read them yet.

Perhaps three years ago

or just last Tuesday

a certain leaf fluttered

from one shoulder to another?

Something was dropped and then picked up.

Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished

into childhood’s thickets?

There were doorknobs and doorbells

where one touch had covered another


Suitcases checked and standing side by side.

One night perhaps some dream

grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning

is only a sequel, after all,

and the book of events

is always open halfway through.

Mis(s) Cegenation

Monday, July 29, 2013

Dear Xxxx,

I watched you. I walked past you as you showered. Your body perfect. Your skin the milky white that they only speak of in literature… but the color that no one accepts presently, or desires to be.

I could see your curves as the water ran down your skin. The sliding doors of the shower partly open - though not the part where I could see you clearly. No, you were at the other end because that is where the showerhead was. Your fingers running through your brown hair as you tilted your head upward to meet the water. Your eyes closed as it did and your hair lay flatly to your back from the water.

I stood there… in the hallway as you reached for a towel… your hands showing unobstructed through the opening… and placed it on while still in the shower. 


But you lived in a different city. You were going to university. I know because you had shown me it earlier… and I saw its beautiful stone exterior… on a road whose name I cannot remember… but I knew the area and so I zoned out, attempting to find how close it was to where I once lived.

But I stopped. I figured it did not matter.