An Abundance of Nothingness

  My stylus taps upon the dual glow of a muted screen keypad. The emotion, no, romance of the act is not as satisfying. The act being the conveying of my thoughts. It would feel far better if you were reading the scribbles of my 1864 fountain pen from my leather bound diary. Yet you are there and here am I. Neither in the same space nor time. Thus compounding my abundance of nothingness.

  Reclined upon my leather sofa in darkness my world seems small enough to bare. Often such is not the case. More then I care for the world is far to vast, empty, opressing, thus: depressing. More memories then I wish to recall. More love unreturned. Kindness unappreciated. Romance ignored. However, presently life has brought me you. Or possibly you me. Regardless we are although not simultaneously together, in word and thought we are joined.

  Therefore I am grateful you have made my nothingness not as abundant. You must understand my life has be very solitary but not by self creation. In truth, some self creation yet without a desire for it to so be. While my solitude is for lack of a better descriptive, safe, it is not wanted. How much more I would rather have you sitting with me to inspire my thoughts and share in my creations. This acknowledged, and if you so happen to discover these few words, would you, my dearest, join me. I ask nothing more than a moment. A brief glimpse of happiness. Only to use to feed my soul when the nothingness is great.

  Have I again crossed the comfortable boundaries of nondisclosure by sharing briefly a taste of what pounds inside my mind? If so let it stand. May it taste sweet, smell fragrant, warm your soul. If not cast all from you and forgive the transgression. Do so with singular request. Leave a word of lie or truth. Either I will read as sincere. Express to me the desire I desire. Feed me one tiny morsel of passion to blanket me as darkness falls.

Most Hopefully,


( I write this directed at no one and everyone. Share with me. Find comfort beside me. )



This Is Not Poetic

   No. Not tonight. Just arriving home from a long weekend in Savannah. I am exhausted. My body hurts every where. My brain hurts. My skin hurts. Finishing a deal on a house and bought my oldest a car for her second year at SCAD. Back up a bit to the house. Some of you who have followed me, hold on! I am moving back in with my wife. Yes. Yes, I know. Scary. I am additionally putting my house on the market. Had considered holding on to it, but no. Going to give this one last try. 

  That said. A buddy from childhood house sat for me and my zoo of pets while I was gone. He had pulled out our high school senior yearbook. It was laying on my bed. I opened it up and immediately there she was. (She not being my wife. She being my first love. Who I never really let go of.) Worse, there the both of us were in a picture together. It was a club picture. Everyone was being normal and we were jumping in the air. All smiles. It all came flooding back. I remember it clearly although it had been locked away for 30 years. I, we, were so happy. Giddy happy.

  I am beginning to hope the parallel universe theory is correct. Hopefully. Somewhere or when. We never stopped being us. We continued on jumping and laughing. We got older and married. Had kids. Dogs, cats, bunnies, pigs, horses. Right now we are in bed. Looking at the yearbook together. Laughing. Wondering who else is still as happy as us. 

  That is not my universe. Here. Now. I have not talk to her in over a year. After not having talked to her in over twenty before we connected on yes Facebook. When we did talk it was just as easy. Just as natural.  Just as wonderful as ever. However, she has a wonderful husband. Four amazing kids. While my life is a train wreck. So. I said goodbye and unfriended her.

  I still wish she was part of my life. She has an amazing way of just setting me at ease. However, I have become comfortable with what we had being the past. What ever it was. I did not make it. What I have now and have had for twenty six years is far from perfect. It is barely a relationship. Yet it is what I have. Maybe it is all my fault. Maybe, maybe I have been holding on to first love way way way to long. Not maybe. Definitely. 

  So here I go. Giving my marriage one more run. No outside interference. Lets see what happens.