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She loves me the way I am, for the man I am. She is proud to be seen with me.
She knows I am not a wealthy man and cannot give her fine things.
I am fiercely loyal to her. She is my twin flame. My time spent with her is like sipping 300 year old Napoleon brandy. She's completely intoxicating... intellectually, physically and sexually. I can never get enough. Being with her in the mountains, sharing a fresh trail, discovering new ground, hand in hand beholding new vistas... arguing a point of Marcus Aurelius on nature and reason... exploring and pleasuring each other... there's nothing better.
I have always had a sideways outlook on life... philosophy... religion... politics... women... most things. She gets me. She gets my quirky gallows sense of humor. I'm naturally loud. She turns down my volume with a gentle look. (Most of the time.) She appreciates my silly romantic gestures. I hope she loves me all the more for them.
She is strong and secure in herself. She doesn't want or need to be married. She doesn't need a man totally devoted or to complete her. She doesn't want to be their sole focus. As much as I would like that, I know I would smother her and kill our love.
She is as comfortable outside at the campfire as she is in the living room by the fireplace. She is not afraid of a backpack, sleeping bag, tent or Repel 100. She knows how to waltz. She owns more beautiful ballgowns than any woman I've ever known. I want to dance with her in each one. We love to snuggle and cuddle watching TV, napping in the afternoon or telling each other our secrets, dreams, hopes and passions. I watch her face, listening, paying attention. If I don't know her plans, dreams and passions, how can I support her to achieve them? She is patient with me when I tell her she's beautiful, adored, treasured and loved beyond measure everyday. I don't think she completely believes me. She stands up to me. She intelligent, bright and sassy. She's completely adorable.
She brings out my romantic side. I love to open her car door when I can get there first... Pull out her chair... Stand when she comes to the table... I tell her how great she looks and l mean it... I get a kick out of opening her wine, pouring it and bringing it to her. I know she can do all of these things for herself. She is the first one to remind me that she is a strong, independent, intelligent, modern, capable woman. I do not believe she understands how much (even when Old Nick is driving his pitchfork so deep into me that I want to throw myself under a bus) I WANT to do these things for her.
You see my friend no woman should ever have to do these things herself when a man loves, adores, treasures and cherishes her. They are such tiny things. Yet, they bring me much joy. I'm not a fool. I'm not a doormat. Many young men in today's world think so. It's not true my friend. I don't have the words to express the depth of my emotions for her. These gestures are how I show her.
The Sun shines upon your heart as I sit and sing your death song my friend.
You gave us shade in the summer. Your leaves fell four times a year as they knew no winter.
You fed the bees when you blossomed. Tomorrow they will come and find you no more and wonder where they will eat now.
Most of all in the dark of night when I was most lonely and I needed a friend you were always there to talk to.
I will miss you but your memory shall live on in the furniture I shall make from the leavings I have kept from your mighty trunk.
They will be kept by my children and their children.
Sleep well my friend. Tomorrow you go back to the Earth. Feed her.
The sun was bright.
The clouds were high.
It Was a Good Day to Die.
I will love the Creator.
I will love myself.
I will love my family.
I will love my neighbor.
I will be a rock and stand alone.
I don't require another person to complete me.
I will accept my victories.
I will take responsibility for my failings.
I will serve others for the joy of service.
I will do no harm.
I will leave no trace.
I will make no track.
I will speak softly and kindly.
I will drive my stake and make my stand.
I only have today.
It's a good day to die.
What would I do?
Currently favorite book is "Voices of the Winds", getting it from the bookshelf, I set it on the side table. I opened my 26 year old bottle of Pappy Van Winkle Bourbon I've been saving and pour myself a drink. Taking a sip, I go to the fridge and get some ice, take another sip, better. I move back out to the living room and set down my drink. Getting out my stash of MMJ, I roll myself a big fat joint using the nice sativa with a pinch of the more powerful indica just to make it a floatier, more relaxing body high, then took a few of my pain meds for my cheek. There must be no pain to distract me today. I set the thermastat at 62°, turned on my reading lamp and laid a self feeding all day fire in the grate. I lit a long heavy hardwood match and set flame to the fire. I knelt there staring into the flames burning hot and cheery.
"Probably be seeing a lot of that soon..."
With all the prepatory bullshit taken care of, I was tired. I flippantly wished I'd just stayed in bed took all of my tramadol and trazadone and went back to sleep. I always have to do things the hard way.
I settled myself in my chair next to the fire with my book and my bourbon. I looked out the window to the southwest. Its a dark, cold, dreary day. Heavy black clouds, laced with pale green covered Mt. Lee.
"Looks just like my soul."
I open my book and read, "As It Was".
