When you wake, you begin a new day: The glorious swirl of letters in an alphabet of meaning, the Tarot of S’s and T’s, the whole summation.
I swirl on my own as the last reflection, in the case of a woman, whose name alone conjures deep recesses.
Her eyes can look at you without judgment. She simply assesses how she will love you, but not necessarily romantically, but in the manner of encouragement and direction, a kind of tough love. She is the old soul she mentions when talking about her mother-in-law, who married her aging father and who is even younger than she.
Daffodils are not more beautiful than she. It explained the reason for her few relationships and very little time in between. She is everything, more solid than a rock, and self-sacrificing. She told me to use my intuition, my sensitivity, to what is going on, but not for money, but for the sake of time and money, to give it all away: “Fall in love with your gifts; give other people the things you possess.”
I can barely keep my eyes open. I wake with many thoughts in this period near my birthday.
I feel this friendship is meant for something more than my loneliness. Later that night, I believe she lay at the pool looking up. She saw me staring into my monitor. Once I left my apartment, I could feel something and so I looked toward the pool and there someone lay looking. I looked for a moment, long enough to surmise the ghost of the lovely afternoon. I was flattered and curious as to what she was doing or making a record of. She must know my hunger. I was playing Middle Eastern music, then Fleeting Foxes. I followed this with “Love Story,” and my musical accompaniment via a harmonica that I played in the kitchen. At some point, she left. I measured her perspective and was glad she could see the paintings, perhaps she liked them or at least she could see what I had been doing.
Nevertheless, one hopes that the truth serves as a good beginning. Nothing should be left to chance. A woman of such beauty can have anyone, this woman so easy to love.