Note: This is just a modest little bit of art, an old personal piece that I lost in the dark corners of the interwebs and have reconstructed here so that I can share it with some friends. It stakes out no policy, makes no argument, promotes no candidate or issue and is probably not very useful at all in the end. It won't be everybody's cup of tea. But maybe someone will enjoy it. That's my hope anyway.

This is a love story and it's a bit on the sad side. There is nothing more human than sadness and sometimes it produces great art. I'm not so ambitious, I'm just hoping for the best.

Too sad for words

Sometimes I'm too sad for words
The whole damned world seems so absurd
It's the dumbest thing I ever heard
A writer who's too sad for words

~ anon

Those last few mornings were whispered gold as autumn lingered. I still see you in my mind's eye moving with sublime grace against the smoky distance. You always evoked in me an ancient nostalgia, like I'd always known you, like we'd always been together.

That last weekend, in the cabin on the mountain. You, me and a rare state of grace. You were as gentle as your breath, putting me at ease, calming my spirit and soothing my soul. You were so abundantly and effortlessly everything that was missing in me. I remember how powerfully I felt it.

But that was long ago. The world has rarely been so kind, before or since. Our time together was, for me, a scrap of grace snatched from the jaws of harsh existence....just a dream...just a dream.

My best times with you are encoded in the most exquisite slow-mo somewhere deep in my brain. You have your own dedicated frequency and always have, an entire channel of my brain devoted to you. I remember everything about you, every detail: how I raised goosebumps on your skin, how you grabbed me and moaned, how you smelled like heaven and tasted of the earth. However deeply it is possible for one person to move another, that's how much you moved me.

I hated leaving you.

But I lived.

Though I never got over you.

It's all so long ago now. I remember...with a hunger for the recollection. I feel compelled to revisit and re-embrace the high points of my existence, to savor them once again as near as I am able. Some other points in the archaeological record prove irresistible as well, for good or ill. I suppose everyone goes through some version of this, rehashing ones existence, dabbling in nostalgia, combing through the memory banks, re-examining evidence, re-evaluating choices as life winds down and the end draws ever nearer. It seems we enter life searching for meaning and leave it in a like fashion. What's been gained or lost in the interim is a mystery.

I count myself lucky to have a vivid imagination and fortunate to remember so much so well, and to have so many wonderful memories like the wonderful memories I have of you.

Remember how we danced? We were so young, so excited to be alive and so fiercely determined to be free. We brimmed with barely contained energy as we explored earthly mysteries and danced timeless dances to ancient rhythms, reveling in the power of youthful abandon, our bodies writhing, our hearts pounding, our spirits soaring.

But the slow dances were what I lived for. I'll never forget how you felt in my arms, how perfectly we fit together, how you smelled, how you moved, how you made me feel.

All so very long ago.

As I remember, your eyes were bluer than robin's eggs.

I hope this little story of mine finds you. It says nothing perfectly and expresses only poorly all that I feel. I hope you're as happy as it's possible to be. And that you will always remember me as kindly as you are able.