4.17.2022pm5.43Easterday,Birthday75Mine

 

4.17.2022pm5.43Easterday,Birthday75Mine

Marie. . .

I have uttered ILY to you, which almost every near-passerby gets from me and early on in acquaintance. Now something quakes in me about that phrase, not exactly because an ILY would not mean anything bad or trivial, for all the paucity of English words to describe the many diverse 'flavors' of loving, but rather I say again because at this stage I am tremulous about being too intense in love, a dominating way to alienate 'new favorites' in one's life.

Love, about love. I have been 'serial' in loves, always with woman has been my love, always a hoped one-and-only fondness that as serial monogamies go, just wilts or dies or explodes. The kind of love I express so casually to nearly everyone is precisely that which lets-go, lives on no hope, does not mean a lock of the sort people mean in 'till death do us part,' a failing exchange and lived moment each time I get what women seem to fear, 'serious.' I having been married and having made deep plunges into passion fear this 'seriousness' that I have against the human sequence of things, 'goes sour.'

Now I practice in an assumption of letting-go, knowing that with all world's dimensionality there may be a beginning, even a middle, but inevitably a dashing end, a goodbye. I think I have become, really, more-loving by doing this letting-go-love. It predisposes me to savor every micromoment of whatever intimacy erupts that flower like a jack-in-the-beanstalk of flowers, the summer Lycoris squamigera, the resurrection lily, blooming from nothing, wilting just as 'nothingly.' I have come to relish this 'light love,' this ask-only-greeting friendly ILY as my better offering to all the affections I have briefly encountered, then bid-adieu.

I am sure it is the same with you, Marie: I would be crazed to think that now you do not have 'something at home' who is supposed to be your 'one and only,' and yes a crazed fool would I the-more be to even hazard a glance that our occasional ILYs mean 'serious' and that your 'serious at home' would find my gushing like for you would be OK-- if carried much more straightly than in the fearsome mode I want to show now. Your loves ILY and gone to any depth augur to be like mine, this-one in a long line of Valentines, which in a day after Valentines we must discard.

But! Let us squeeze our smiles into a joy of being-together for awhile. That kind of ILY would of course make for more-acceptable living and for a sweet, ultimate letting-go when the Ultimate Bye Bye occurs, and with it we sleep in the 'Long Bed' becoming compost for the sexing of grass and flowers!