Love Is …

Love is a place.
A safe space,
Where you can be you, without fear.
Without judgment or reprisal; just to be clear.
Love is online, a community that fosters your growth.
Love is a home that supports and offers a troth.
Love is that one diner
Where you and your tribe couldn’t be finer.

But love is not *every* place.

Love is a person. They ask if you’ve eaten.
That ride-or-die friend that just cannot be beaten.
They tell you to drive carefully and text when you’re home.
They add color to life when it turns monochrome.
They listen; hold space.
They offer care and grace.

But love is not *every* person.

Love is a thing. A reminder of hope.
A hug in order to cope.
Love is hot chocolate with marshmallows on top.
That teddy bear when the tears won’t stop.

But love is not *every* thing.
In fact, love is so rarely the thing by itself,
Love is the feeling you get from that thing on the shelf.

Love is a clusterfuck of emotions.
Love can be happy. Love can be sad.
Love can be angry. Love can be mad.
Love is confusion. Love is irrational.
Love is calm. Love is magical.
Love is joy. Love is pain.
Love can be all of these at the same

Love is unconditional. But love sets boundaries.
Love is love, even if the sound varies.
It is freely given, without limits.
Love is how we survive all of these minutes.

Continue reading

To All the Could’ve Beens that Will Never Be…

We were friends.

We laughed and danced. We sat and talked for hours.
We drank and danced some more.
When you wrapped your tongue around my finger,
It became the signature on a note that said:
“There’s more.”

We were going to give it a go, to see what the future may hold.
But, weather happened. Our first date was a no-go.
Work schedules collided. Our second first date was a no-go.
Then COVID happened. And all of the next umpteen first dates were a no-go.

Then you died.

I love you as a friend.
I wish we had the chance to see what other types of love we could’ve shared.

I miss you.

I still think about the fun we shared as friends and I still wonder what might have been.
I still wonder, “If we’d had that first date, would you still be around?”
I still wonder, “Is it my fault, for not trying harder?”
I still wonder, “How could I have helped you?”

I know the answers, in order, are:
“No, probably not.”
“No, definitely not.”
“There is nothing.”

But I still ask myself.
I still feel the hurt and the questions.
And despite my logic knowing the answers —
My heart still asks and wonders.

But you’re not here to tell me, my friend,
“What could’ve been?”

Continue reading

The Last Show

Who we were going to be was chosen for us by the choices we made.
We poured ourselves into our personas, while we delved deep into their psyches.
Over the run of time, we grew in each others’ light.
We grew, our characters grew, our friendships grew.
Time was kind to us, time was on our side, time stopped.
We laughed, we cried, we fought and nearly died.
As long as we held the stage, time could not move.

Then the clock started ticking again and time had run its course.
We took our bows and struck the set, and each tick of the secondhand brought us closer to the end.

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened,” we say, through tear soaked cheeks, knowing full well that crying is all we can do.

Yes, we’ll meet again and run another course.
But that time will be its own.
This experience will never happen again.
Each run is a unique adventure that can never be recaptured.
So I will smile through my tears as I slip away without saying …

“Good Bye.”

Continue reading

Disco Power

Too close. Fragmented faces following a gaze.
Too close! Broken and betrayed, belittled and dazed.
Too close. Distracted by the darkness; driven mad.
Too close! Picture perfect profile pulsates badly.

BACK UP! Back off. Back down.

Spotlight shining sends shimmering sparkles. Back up.
Radiant rays are rescuing ribbons, back up.
The mirror cracked just makes many moonbeams. Back up.
Illustrious luminations light fires, back up.

Continue reading

Goodbye, My Sarah Jane.

How can I define my sorrow at the passing of Lis Sladen?

I did not know her, except through the character of Sarah Jane Smith. But Sarah Jane was my first TV crush. She was also like a friend of the family. I welcomed her into my home via the television on a regular basis. I was a kid, watching Dr. Who in America via PBS reruns.

I was sad when she left the show. I rejoiced when I saw her again in The Five Doctors. Years later, I found out she had made K9 & Company, so I searched for years, trying to find a copy. When I did, I watched it and I fell in love with her all over again. I kept hoping the series would get picked up and that there would be more episodes with my dear Sarah Jane. It never was, of course.

Then the new run of the Doctor Who started, and eventually the rumor surfaced that she would be in an episode. I was awash with joy. When I watched School Reunion, I cried several times. Tears of joy, tears of sorrow, tears of empathy. I have teared up every time I’ve ever watched that episode. And I always will.

Then came Sarah Jane Adventures. I watched every episode as soon as I could find them. I loved that show as much as I loved Doctor Who, for me, it was still Doctor Who, just without the Doctor (usually.)

And now, she’s gone. There was no farewell episode to say goodbye to the character. The character still lives on, but she’ll never make a reappearance, she’ll never be seen again. There can be no good byes when she dies or retires or anything. The character will simply fade away from the Universe. But she will never fade away from my heart.

I’ve read (and listened to) many remembrances of Elisabeth Sladen. They were written or said by people close to her. Those who knew her say that Ms. Sladen was every bit as wonderful, brilliant, clever, fantastic and amazing as Sarah Jane ever was. Perhaps even more so. I never got to meet Lis but now, more than ever, I wish I had gotten the opportunity.

Fare thee well Lis Sladen, fare thee well on your next Great Adventure, where ever it may take you. And Sarah Jane, give our best to the Brig and the rest when you see them. We will miss you Sarah Jane, you were loved beyond any measure.

2003 Me was interesting…

I wrote a story using the entire (at that point — June 26, 2003) discography of The Cure. Each paragraph is dedicated to a single album.

For all of the following, here’s how this will work, Album Titles and Song Titles.

When I was little I had some friends, three imaginary boys. Around 10:15 Saturday night, I was reminded with amazing accuracy of the details. It brought my whole world to a grinding halt. I thought it was just another day, but no, the object of my affection, reminded me of the old subway song we used to sing together, she really was a foxy lady back then. Now, she’s just a meathookSo what? It’s not like I started a fire in Cairo or anything. It’s not you, she’d say it’s those three imaginary boys you used to play with, especially the weedy Burton.

I never liked him. But, boys don’t cry… so why not, I’ll be jumping someone else’s train by next week, remember, boys don’t cry, right? No more “plastic passion” for me. 10:15 Saturday night ... I’ll remember forever. The accuracy, total object refusal. The subway song… Who is killing an Arab? Nobody! Is there a fire in Cairo? Of course not! It’s really only just another day. Brought to a grinding halt, as though there were a major world war or something. So what! all because of three imaginary boys.

After only seventeen seconds of silence, I knew it was all over. A reflection in the waters of the lake, “Play for today” was always my philosophy. Secrets were for other people, never in your house, or mine. But those three… those imaginary three… “I love you.” was the final sound I heard from your lips, before you ran off into a forest. “M!” I called out after you, but at nightseventeen seconds of silence lasts forever.

I have enough faith for the both of us though. The holy hour is less than two hours away, and it is primary on my mind. The other voices in my head all fade away, “All cats are grey” floats through the mists of those voices. The funeral party, or “wake” as the Irish would call it, for our relationship should start soon, but I doubt it will help the drowning man I am inside. But I have faith enough for the both of us.

Pornography. Our early relationship. One hundred years. How much later it feels right now. A short term effect. How long the fun lasted. We used to sit beneath the hanging garden and gawk at the siamese twins in the freak show. The bearded lady was just the figurehead for the show. Back then, a strange day was a good day, but now, it’s all just cold. I want the pornography back again.

So, here I am, just standing on a beach, staring at the sea. You’ve left me feeling like I was killing an Arab or something. I gotta stay together, “boys don’t cry“… I’ll be jumping someone else’s train by this time next week. You walked off into a forest. We were the primary focus at one time. I still think of Charlotte sometimes, when I visit the hanging gardenLet’s go to bed, one more time to walk the walk, be the lovecats, do the caterpillar again… not just on the inbetween days… I want you to be close to me again… but, ever since that moment, at 10:15 Saturday night, “Play for today” just won’t work anymore. the other voices in my head won’t let there be a night like this ever again.

Shut up and just kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, dammit! I long for the kiss… the one that didn’t come with a catch…the one that was exquisite tortureIf only tonight we could sleep together, without me looking at his life and thinking “why can’t I be you?“… I used to look at you and think of how beautiful you are … but now, it’s like the snake pit. Hey you!!! are you even listening to me? It was just like heaven once, all I want is to have that back again. It was so hot hot hot!!! Just to be like that one more time. Screeching like cockatoos, licking the icing sugar off those most private of parts, the perfect girla thousand hours of watching you shiver and shake with each quaking wave. But now, all we do is fight.

The disintegration of what we had can be summed up in a plainsong. The pictures of you that I used to keep have faded. When we closedown for the night, it’s not a lovesong, or even a lullaby. I walked down fascination street, but all I have anymore is prayers for rain to wash away the pain. If you could be in the same deep water as you put me into… this disintegration may yet heal, the untitled chapters of our life could yet be written. Just one last dance, and maybe I wouldn’t be so homesick for another’s arms.

I’m all mixed up. The lullaby, the feeling of you, close to me, another trip down fascination street, to take the walk, to be sung of during a lovesong… but you had to walk into a forest…my pictures of you, looking hot hot hot!!! fading into the waters of the sea. Looking at him, and his life, thinking, why can’t I be you?… A memory… you and I doing the caterpillar… these inbetween days are killing me. There is never enough to go around.

entreat of you for the pictures of you to be like they were. The closedown we are going through is our last dance, our last walk down fascination street. I still have these prayers for rain… watching the disintegration of our lives, that homesick feeling I get, even when I’m home. The untitled chapters will remain untitled.

wish we were more open, our love could soar high, not fall apart. I call out to you, from the edge of the deep green seaWendy time to come home! I’m tired of doing the unstuck to straighten things out. I want them to stay fixed. On or before Friday I’m in love with someone else. Trust that I still love you now, but a letter to Elise can cut us apart forever. Is it really wrong to wish impossible things? Or is this the final end?

I went to the show the other day. I still have the tape. At the open, they all came out, high as kites…the pictures of you were like a lullaby, as if angels were singing just like heaven. The trip down fascination street on a night like this. Where we can trust in never doing the unstuck again, where we can take the walkLet’s go to bed, it’s Friday I’m in love. No more inbetween days. I’ll call you one more time from the edge of the deep green sea, to say it is never enough, you cut me and this is the end.

One time, in Paristhe figurehead was watching us. It was one hundred years ago. At night, the years seem longer. Play for today just doesn’t mean what it used to. We are apart, never to be in your house again. Never to have a lovesong written about us. I’ll never again catch you. All with simply a letter to Elise. The whole world changes. Dressing up is an option again. Charlotte sometimes could visit without you. Someone new will be close to me.