So much for a daily blog. 
I erroneously started off thinking that I would write every day but damn, dag, or darn (you pick), it didn't quite turn
out that way. After I logged my first entry days ago, I haven't been back until today. Not that I didn't have stuff on my mind. As a matter
of fact, maybe too much.
Two sunsets ago, I couldn't believe I actually listened (music, lyrics, vocal expression) to a Brian McKnight
song and it actually made emotional sense. I mean the cat can sing, and his stuff is melodic, but his songs just weren't that appealing. His work, to me,
has always sounded sappy and so, uh… well, "pop tunish" and "commercial" (sorry Brian). I gotta' say,
I surprised myself though. I was mindlessly wandering between FM stations, you know WXYZ (Your Number One station for - insert genre of music here-) and WZYV
(Your Place for the Latest Hits), when that song, "I Miss You" stuck. Isn't that always the case? Something
you've heard a trillion times and never paid serious attention to, suddenly hits you, especially when you're falling in love, or
clumsily tumbling out. The song title explains it all. Furthermore, in terms of sentimental balance, I was going down. Felt like my
white shoe laces were untied. I was trying to gain my equilibrium after spinning myself around a bat fifty one times and, wow, those four shots of clear
fermented, bottled stuff still burned my throat. I was due to experience a hard, ungraceful fall. It was turning out to be a difficult moon. I was thinking
of her. The "familiar stranger".
It's hard dealing with this "familiar stranger". That is what my mind calls her now. A changed persona. Never ceases to amaze me how
people change when "romantic love" is no longer in the equation. I mean there is care and concern, but detached, boring versions. These
elements no longer connected to an infinite source, simply dangle. Painful for the person on the receiving end of the classic, "I love you but just
not in that way anymore" thing. Or equally as bad, the ancient, "I love you, I can't be with you- however, I don't know what to do
with you so can you hang around until I figure it out and maybe, just maybe, we can try this again" vibe.
Different. She is.
I've seen it happen before to other individuals, multiple times. However, with other people you can always see it coming from three hundred and ninety
eight miles away (give or take a few feet); big red flag flapping incessantly in the wind. You witness the demise occurring, you see the telltale signs.
Black oil spots on the garage floor surface, or in the parkway screaming, "Something is leaking, and you better fix it pronto, - or else!"
Yeah, as customary in these situations, I, the other party, was the last to know. Or better said, the last to see. She had changed, moved on, left the space
we used to share, but I didn't want to see it.
All this time, I had been staring at a still painting on a wall, thinking it was real life. My feelings were static.
Hers, dynamic. The colors, hues, images, looked amazingly authentic. Me and her, smiling. Sitting at an outdoor café. Summertime (or maybe Springtime, I couldn't really tell
but the colors were so stunningly vivid). Then it happened. Some
minor, seemingly uneventful (possibly taken out of context) event shook me and my comatose gaze turned to the right corner of the frame,
then to the wooden floor,
then to the room next door…
then to the old fashioned window sill with cracked paint (the previous color attempting to burst through)
I was processing in 3D
I saw people...
doing what people do
and I realized, life was going on. While I stood there transfixed by this awe-inspiring masterpiece of times gone by,
life was evolving, progressing, unfolding. I looked beside me and she was nowhere to be seen. When we first started admiring this mural, I recall her hand clutching mine. We shared same
vision. Now I face this artistic creation, alone. Damn, dang or darn (picked on
yet?). She may not understand why I can't speak to her just yet. Her
modality, her tone… not the voice I am accustomed to. kcuF, she calls me by my first name. That sounds like a poem (and I just might develop that idea) but yeah, she calls me by my first name. All the time now. I hate to hear her say it. Not
that I dislike my name, I dig it quite well. Coming from her though, it's noise, decibels too high. Sentences
preceded (and concluded) with "Baby", "Honey", "Babe" or "Sweety", convicted felons facing consecutive life terms in
prison. Never to escape from her lips again.
Did I mention I was listening to "I Miss You" by Brian McKnight a few evenings ago? Damn, dag, or darn (or something stronger).
Your choice.
