I couldn't blog so I quoted something instead. As I was reading and typing it simultaneously, I realised this passage was relentlessly long without breaks, but I couldn't bring myself to just quote a slice of it. Every line matters cos I'm waiting for the moment I'll feel this way again. So I quote everything and leave it as that. To lie in wait to celebrate.
The Final Simplicity of Love
I realized tonight as I left your place, that my love for you was absolute. It could go on record with 12 months to the year, 365 days, 7 celestial bodies - Nothing I can do about it. I could tell you more news, that beavers, for instance, have see-through eyelids for swimming underwater, and a tweezer on the tip of the left fourth finger. I would like to be about that useful, but I can also assume the position of a Swiss Army knife in every-ready closed position. I could slap you awake to the presence of my love, like a beaver's tail smacks water, but I want you to be simply as you are, to work in this world as you were meant to do, 24 hours to the day, 52 weeks, and nothing to be done about it. I bask in the inevitable like an eagle in a tuck. Did you know they can dive up to 400 miles per hour? But I certainly wouldn't want to hunt you down. I step back and simply gaze at your true blue shirt and wonder about the immense and awesome wonder of this, not even hoping for an instant that someday you might wake up to the vague possibility, as if turning to an alluring aroma, or hearing the perfect pitch of that one holding note that doesn't die away when your head hits the pillow. It's just a pleasure that I know your name. That it happens to be you. What if I had fallen for some disgusting person. What if I wanted anything in return. Impossible, I know that. My love is simply like a good weather prediction that gets even better when it comes true in my head. Fabulous mild temperatures that inspire you to write the next great chapter. You feel better and even better about yourself, and don't know why. While I'm like a big happy animal, galloping amongst so many shades of green, with heapings of health and sweet frolickings to boot. I want you to be just as you are, 7 days to the week, every 60 seconds, in absolute recurring devotion. Forever and ever as witnessed by the stars, and there's nothing in the world I can do! But to hand you this manuscript and touch you on the mouth, then to blissfully and quietly depart. Don't worry about me. I will be happy as a lark. Pleasure is my mentor, but you can think of me as Joy. I will love you until the day I die. And possibly even after. Read this like my last will and testament, for whatever I have left, I leave it all to you - so lucky I was to have you even barely in my life, which is composed to 41 years now, one month and 16 days, 12 hours and 8 minutes, right up until this very instant - beneath the heavenly, breathing, sky.
- Laura Chester, Bitches Ride Alone
The Final Simplicity of Love
I realized tonight as I left your place, that my love for you was absolute. It could go on record with 12 months to the year, 365 days, 7 celestial bodies - Nothing I can do about it. I could tell you more news, that beavers, for instance, have see-through eyelids for swimming underwater, and a tweezer on the tip of the left fourth finger. I would like to be about that useful, but I can also assume the position of a Swiss Army knife in every-ready closed position. I could slap you awake to the presence of my love, like a beaver's tail smacks water, but I want you to be simply as you are, to work in this world as you were meant to do, 24 hours to the day, 52 weeks, and nothing to be done about it. I bask in the inevitable like an eagle in a tuck. Did you know they can dive up to 400 miles per hour? But I certainly wouldn't want to hunt you down. I step back and simply gaze at your true blue shirt and wonder about the immense and awesome wonder of this, not even hoping for an instant that someday you might wake up to the vague possibility, as if turning to an alluring aroma, or hearing the perfect pitch of that one holding note that doesn't die away when your head hits the pillow. It's just a pleasure that I know your name. That it happens to be you. What if I had fallen for some disgusting person. What if I wanted anything in return. Impossible, I know that. My love is simply like a good weather prediction that gets even better when it comes true in my head. Fabulous mild temperatures that inspire you to write the next great chapter. You feel better and even better about yourself, and don't know why. While I'm like a big happy animal, galloping amongst so many shades of green, with heapings of health and sweet frolickings to boot. I want you to be just as you are, 7 days to the week, every 60 seconds, in absolute recurring devotion. Forever and ever as witnessed by the stars, and there's nothing in the world I can do! But to hand you this manuscript and touch you on the mouth, then to blissfully and quietly depart. Don't worry about me. I will be happy as a lark. Pleasure is my mentor, but you can think of me as Joy. I will love you until the day I die. And possibly even after. Read this like my last will and testament, for whatever I have left, I leave it all to you - so lucky I was to have you even barely in my life, which is composed to 41 years now, one month and 16 days, 12 hours and 8 minutes, right up until this very instant - beneath the heavenly, breathing, sky.
- Laura Chester, Bitches Ride Alone
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