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I feel like I left a part of me spiritually in your compact touch-up mirror.  In a streak on the glass that keeps looking at you in pull-out-a-handbag way I wish I could retrieve back into my consciousness to sever from viewing whoever you are looking at me in that self-reflective space and return into the sky blue.  I know logically I am looking into myself; I see an image distorted by waves of time in the maze in my head.  It makes me ponder spiritual elements, my internal instruments, of what I experienced with you in our brief time together than has left me changed.

I looked at you hard in those weeks.  The effort to do so was there, but the magnitude of what naturally shined out of you fissured some aspect of me like debris in a hurricane.  There is that part of me smeared like a scratched etch that has seen you in every woman I have met since, quotidian parade floats, and moments that speak to me as the universe arches its back.  I debate whether I see what I want to see, rewording nothingness into something-ness.

I am guided more by the cycles of the moon, the confluence of time’s dance than logic to try to be in the now.  That is how I make most of my daily decisions to see what the universe makes available and flow with the current rather than swim upstream.  

I am in a place of love or fear.  Fear is like an idle car in a driveway flooring the gas pedal in park.  Love is putting our self in drive.  It is near impossible for me to visualize movement in any dimension of that idea of whatever was created between us

In my inner quiet I know I am a romantic, I have dreamed in my life that if I were to be taking my last series of breaths reviewing my regrets and treasures nothing would mean or cost me more in its absence than experiencing true intimacy through the layers of love that made me feel the universe melding with what life really is.  Life has taught me love raw.  Some people get passive placid surface fit in the box, maybe in cohabitation, matrimony, predictability, most not.