B sittin here minding mah OWN DAMM business - still healing from my last spate of unprovoked savageries - when I see THREE MESSAGES from Sparky, after eight lifetimes of none.*
He’s going to take a restraining order out against me, said the man I had basically worshipped… if I don’t stop “harassing” him. I’m interfering with his life and new relationship (TM fucking I.)
W H U T?
Amazon sent my doormats to his address. I must have pushed a wrong something. I used to send his daughters books, before drugs/jail/fucking/pregnancy defined their teen-age lives.
I shot back a trickle of FAABulous bon mots - scant, true, shank-like yet completely correct.
Then I dropped into a well of sadness.
I wrote him again and said he didn’t have to explain a thing to me, ever - voila, another gift of love. I’ve been crying. I don’t like tears.
I loved that man. I was just wild about that man.
Photo by Xanadu Xero