|
|
||||
|
|
Jeff Wyatt's Musings: This life, this love, fractures each and every one of us, challenging our beleaguered fates with graveyards of regret and sins left pleading for their atone. Our headstones amass, crossing from hillside to hillside yearning for infinities end, and when those distant horizons are finally greeted, find there remains a lifetime of roads left to tread. When we come to, and our interstice from these pasts and future presents begins its narrow, that is when we may revisit the moss which has subdued these stones. Each love, each fleeting opportunity, bestowed a marker to which we may once more place a lily, but never awake the old bones. For we know full well, no good can come from that which is better left laid to rest. And so with renascent swagger, love once more raps upon my chamber door. Love, knowing full well the graves of its past and treacherous future, attempts to rouse me for another go. And inexplicably, in a recondite haze, I extend my hand to the knob and once again find myself releasing the door; even though a prescient view pervades and the outcome of such foolishness is known full well to both the heart and overridden mind. The stone formed round my heart begins its deliquesce and once more Cupid's arrow penetrates my core. Or more simply stated, "Love! She is a motherfuck, no?" And much like love, that last line sounds infinitely more enticing with a French accent. It is in our past ineptitudes and inadequacies we find each and every reason to spurn love. Torched trails and fallen trees litter a past we all wish would fall to forgot. And yet we forge ahead, each and every spring, hoping that this is the spring that leads us to our blissful summers, our resplendent autumns, and ultimately our brief, but fulfilled winters. To sleep beside the one who enveloped us in that fleeting, yet eternal spring. Just as in nature, love must allow for decay. Death must be allowed to take its charted course so that the newness of life, and in this case love, may flourish. Though our pasts may not heal as easily, or as quickly, as the snow which falls over an autumn's bed of leaves, we still allow our hands to reach for the door, and turn the handle to be met by a biting winter chill, knowing that one day our faces will once more be greeted by the warm spring breeze. She never knew all of this, but that is how she came to be known during each intimate moment we shared as, "My Spring Breeze," a nickname she abhorred, but one I bestowed with great adoration. A serendipitous meeting if there ever was one: Our paths intertwined on line at the market check out. She had but a few items in her basket, and I doing my weekly shopping, had my cart packed tighter than a Volkswagen Bug filled with college kids attempting to win a beer bong at spring break. I offered her my place in the queue and she kindly accepted, with a smile that reminded me of a firefly; a brilliant, shining light which captivates your attention fully, and then fades much too quickly into the recesses of a darkened memory. She, however, was the one firefly whose light I wanted to hold on to. It was March 27, spring love had just dusted off its most comfortable shoes to take a leisurely stroll through my life, and I was twitterpated, as Thumper would put it. Never in my life to that point had I been so compelled to chat someone up. It was that desperate feeling you get in the pit of your stomach, knowing that if you miss this opportunity, it will be a moment you never forgive yourself for letting pass by. I complimented her, she blushed. As timid as a toddler presented with a vast ocean for the first time, I decided to only tap a toe to the water. Unlike the toddler, however, I knew it wasn't safe. But just as curiosity cajoles a child into doing that which is unknown, it also beckoned me towards a love that was but a fool's errand. Standing before the vast ocean, my only option was to drown in her waters. The bliss of spring's ether had enraptured both our beings. We set out at a torrid pace to learn each and every intricacy of the others past. Marathon phone calls and four-hour walks through Chicago's architectural masterpieces passed at such a pace it made the heart ache for more hours in a day. Needless to say, I was screwed. It wasn't supposed to happen this time, I wasn't meant to fall in love. But I did. I was dating the girl that every man secretly fears. The girl with whom marriage seems the only option because if she gets away, we know there isn't going to be another like her. My heart exalted and gave me a perpetual glow. I had never in all my days fallen this hard, this quickly for someone. The summer floated into fall as lightly as the breeze from spring ushers in the warmth of summer. The year which followed that fall was like no other I had ever experienced. Christmas and New Year's blended together in one seamless breath as we raced once more into spring. If there were ever a drug created that could give that feeling of euphoria at any given time, this world would never accomplish a thing. She made me feel as though any and every good thing in this world could be easily found inside the bond we shared. And so on a crisp fallen leaf of fall, I knelt down, took her hand in mine and asked her to keep it there for every seasons change which followed. She broke my heart. Her hand recoiled and tears streamed from both our eyes. My Spring Breeze succumbed to frost, and there I was, without a coat. One wonders after such a life altering rejection what their life could possibly hold for store in them after that moment. For myself personally, I took my fate into my own hands, and decided to seek out Cupid. We met up early one Saturday morning at a Starbucks on State Street and proceeded to have a rather terse discussion on love and its wonderful highs and harrowing lows. Then things turned sour. We began to argue about the merits of his work and the pain he inflicts on those he decides to strike with his bow. Our voices escalated, and with biscottis in hand, we were asked to leave the establishment. The argument carried out onto the street. In a rage which had never before come over me, I blacked out. When my heart of darkness subsided five minutes later I was being whisked away in handcuffs. I had stabbed cupid in the heart 19 times with his own arrows. Cupid may have destroyed my life, but I saved 19 others that day… As the winter snows
have once more subsided into the blossoming spring, I find myself
inexplicably longing for the piercing sting of Cupid's bow once again.
Though I honestly fear all that it may bring, I would gladly
accept one thousand shattered hearts to feel that love I held all those
years ago. My only explanation for this longing is
that there truly is no better feeling than the soft kiss of a Spring
Breeze. Love, she truly is a motherfuck, no? |
coming soon! |
||
