Good Evening Manly,

…Just another blond girl here, reporting on the ups and downs of living in paradise.

It appears I have been hiding for a little while. I guess that’s what happens when us blond girls start to fall in love? Days blend into nights and we have no care what time it is, what we eat for lunch, nor do we bother with commitments like writing down thoughts.

Maybe this is the difference between thinking about life and getting an opportunity to live life? Maybe the routines and beliefs about accomplishments don’t matter at all when someone has him arms around me?

So it seems…weeks after these words were strung together I find myself sitting in my bedroom, under the warmth of my furry blanket, alone again, but definitely not by myself.

What a difference a day makes?

Thank you.

About two weeks ago…

Last night, as I lay on my new man’s bed, I caught myself thinking about how slowly the evening was passing by. I was listening to the consistent flow of rain streaming onto the Corso below. I felt completely relaxed, nestled in between his flannel sheets, soaking in his scent from the pillow beneath my head. There was nowhere to go but here. I had the whole night of rest and intimate whispers ahead of me.

We sleep in each other’s arms, fingers entangled, sharing subtle murmurs from our dreams. An unexpected urge to move reminds me that his skin is grazing mine and there’s nothing else I’d rather touch. That night went on for a very long time. How long, I’m not sure? It changes every time I close my eyes.

I am grateful for the impression of infinity I was gifted last night.

And then we are greeted by dawn and alarms and sounds of machines washing the sidewalks below. The recollection of where I am reveals itself as he pulls me towards him and softly kisses my lips. I don’t want this moment to expire. Suddenly there isn’t enough. I will have to leave and so will he and there’s no way of knowing if I will ever be able to return here again?

Seamless lines threading my past and present, tying knots between the setbacks and smoothly stretching out the ecstatic wins – how does she exist within, behind and around me so artfully?

She doesn’t make any sense. She seems to move so quickly and then, when suffering erupts, she ceases to shift at all.

She is infinite and final.

She is slow and generous.

She teases me with innumerable majestic sunsets and reminds me that she can strip them all away as she captures someone’s last breath right before my eyes.

I don’t know what she has planned for me? There’s no logic binding her tactics. The senseless chaos is masked by another full moon. She tells me that it’s all a pattern and that I can follow her lead and yet how can I recall something from my history as if it were happening right now? Suddenly, another year has passed and eerily, I blow out thirty-six candles instead of twenty-eight.

She is graceful yet scrupulous. She gives me the gift of patience to process my lessons without a rush but delivers wrinkles and pain regardless of my grandest efforts. She caresses me with long nights of love where each breath lasts for hours and then trumps it with the words that I never got a chance to say. “Maybe too soon?”  she says. “Maybe too late?

If only you spoke when I told you to, but only speak when you know you should!

If only you didn’t waste so much of me. If only you chose to take me when I offered myself to you. Don’t you know that sometimes I don’t offer another chance?”

“If only…” she says, “and there’s lots of me…”

Is she tricking me? Is this paradox encouraging me to take the lead?

“But it’s not fair!” I say. “You give me the promise of space and you ask me to trust, but you might recall it tomorrow anyways.”

I beg her for more of her tantalising elixir. “Please!” I cry, “I need more. I can’t bear to run out now,” and she might not give it to me. We each only have one bottle full and the glass has opaque sides, hiding the level of liquid within. Some get a full vessel. Some get a few drops. How does she choose who gets more of this vital fluid than another?

…Then, there are those moments when I want to turn it upside down and pour the liquid out. The waiting becomes unbearable. I need an answer and I can only sit and watch the drips descend in frustration. When will it flow again? “Please!” I cry. “Please! I need you to reveal the truth faster…I can’t bear this waiting without guarantees? Be patient? But how?”

Sometimes you don’t even exist. Sometimes I stand in the middle of a crowded street and see lifetimes of history unfolding within a frozen moment that never seems to end. You reveal tales in milliseconds from the mere glance of someone’s passing stare, and I understand that none of it can be comprehended. The past and future become entangled in the crowd and I can see it all within a single moment anyways.

I think you are my wisest and most cynical friend. You tease me and remain beside me holding my hand.

How can I trust you TIME?

How do I know you are telling me the truth?

How can I absorb every delicious second when you show me love? How can I stay here and enjoy it without fear that you might steal it all away? How can I be patient and believe that I do know when and how and where? Why does tonight feel endless and slow and precious, yet tomorrow you might take my bottle and dissolve it into sand?

These exquisite moments should not be wasted. In reflection, each one could be traded later for an entire kingdom. Inhale, say thank you and soak it in. I guess that’s all I can do?

xx