DEVILISH Disillusionment

2016, 3 AUGUST:
I  really want to be in your heart as your 3 August message implies, “It is Love” 
Just know that I fear that you will never care for me any more, and that disparages me, although just in August, you told me, and I know that I don’t need to repeat this, but these are your words that I prefer, you know (I repeat them for myself, I like to read them.  A lot):
“Thylias,  It is Love & that is all, it is kin and Life itself. 
Sending you strength”
It either is Love, or it isn’t.  
And the minimizing, the, as you put it, “extent” of our encounters, those precious and sweet encounters that compelled me to write so much about you, even what I consider, no matter what critics eventually say, my best poem, “Higginson Matters in Magnificent Culture of Myopia”, and I guess I say this out of anger more than anything, but I thought, well, I was hoping that I meant more to you than something reduced to, as you put it:
  
who we have become since our meeting a couple years ago, that weekend, plus our reading together in Detroit, being the extent of our time together.
He  omitted Minneapolis, we saw each there too; he is scatterbrained; I started to say the it wasn’t important to him… But that wouldn’t be fair;  Maybe it was.  Maybe he did love me. And he couldn’t anymore.  I believe that he did love me, maybe still does  in his way.  It’s the deceit that bothers me.  Much more than anything. 
I am just too beautiful to be unlovable.  Too smart also. And with the long hair, long 100% natural hair that men love, including him, maybe his GIRLFRIEND has it; I certainly didn’t ask.  I don’t want to be able to compare her with myself, although I would come out ahead 🙂 
But I am not about to enter a battle to fight for him?  No way… If he couldn’t choose me as openly and as  honestly as I chose him, fully faithful, committed to only him… then what is the point?   I want a man who will choose only me, and be glad for the choice. I thought it was him, and it easily could have been… I wasn’t looking for a BOYFRIEND!  I thought I had him; I thought we could be a couple, once the distance ceased to be as much of a problem as it is now, and now added to the distance of his own choice, there is no hope of anything like that.  
I DO NOT HAVE A MAN,
despite what I thought, despite how much I love him; I do not have him, and as long as I was so easily replaceable; well, that tells me a lot, because I can’t replace him; that is, I haven’t wanted to replace him, I haven’t felt that need, because I was more than satisfied with him.  There was no need to go further.  
You reach point where you have to decide which set of imperfections you will accept; everybody has them. I do, and so does he.  He is/was perfect for me as he is, and I am/was perfect for him.  As I am. Only those who are there, me and him, can  understand how perfect our imperfect connection is, has to be to have lasted so many years…
What I am trying to say, is that  the longevity of this connection has been so secure, but I never took it for granted, tried to nourish and care for it the best that I could, but seems that I have failed.  I don’t know how to stop loving him, and he’s on so many pages of my new book.  Remove him, and the new part shrinks by half.
I have been grateful to have found this connection; some people never do…
So I am one of the lucky ones, as he most definitely is to have ME, ALL of me; I withheld none of myself from him,
and now, I feel so used… so mishandled, so ill-loved… so , the worse of it, so DECEIVED, but dwelling on this accomplishes nothing, just prevents from moving ahead alone.
If he can’t love me for a couple of months, let alone a couple of years, what good is love as shallow as that?   I want something little more reliable, a little more secure and substantial. When he told me that “It is Love” –capital “L” Love,  (“Thylias,  It is Love”)
I was so excited, as it seemed then that  he really was every bit the man I thought he was, and I replied, 

“You know that I accept this.  I like hearing that it is Love. I’m just afraid that it might not be love tomorrow.  

I love knowing that it is Love, I need that more than anything… 

As long as it will continue to be Love, I am fine.  

No one can say how long it will continue to be Love on this Wildest of Rides, but I am glad to take this ride with you.

Thylias

But now,   I  feel so minimized, so inconsequential by that, even if that’s not how you meant it, but that’s how those words, your words, affect this little literalist, and that tenderness you showed me in Minneapolis… Tenderness that seems to mean more to me than it does to you.  Yet, it obviously means something to you for that is how you behave… Maybe you always behave like that, and if so, no wonder women seem to love you; you are great to be around… You have a welcoming personality, a caring demeanor.  

 

But you are also a Devilish Liar

easy to love
I just want you to understand in the context of feelings I have for you, I now wonder whether my feelings are maybe being wasted.  I respond to you in the only ways I can, 
but if you have decided, and that still is “IF” because I still retain hope, but if you have decided that nothing more can ever be, then I am wasting my time, and my heart is shattered.  I never wanted the tragic romance that I have.  You know I didn’t, and not seeing you doesn’t present a chance to see what might still be there, or can be there.  

I had reason to fear that it might not be “Love” tomorrow, because it isn’t.  Barely lasted long enough for belief.

And let another year go by, and subject that passage of time to your minimizations, and there is no chance at all.  And that is what frightens me: no chance at all.
caring about you is not supposed to hurt…

but it does.  

I  care about you too much to ever let you go…
I hate your math, your system of determining what extent means, and can be, Mr. DICTIONARY.  
Why don’t you seem to want any more encounters?
___________
Then in a telephone conversation, Ladies, on 8 October 2016, after months, I would safely guess, of not saying what I suspect was already true, FINALLY matching my Honesty, because I refuse to lie,
Ladies, he tells me, the Scoundrel, that HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND!  
and SHE IS NOT ME!
At first, I  was stunned, demoralized, heartbreak was seething, but is he really worth it?  
My time with him, that “Mystery Man” dates back over thirty years, and ends with this betrayal, in his “CONFESSION” finally meeting my honesty with some honesty of his own, and told me he has a GIRLFRIEND? –HE SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME THE MOMENT HE KNEW! –AND COULD HAVE! but didn’t! 
He does not love me, he loves her, whoever she is, I do not want to know; of course, for various reasons that have to do with life, he waited 25 years to kiss me, and, I have to be honest, even though I hardly want to praise him now, but it was the best kiss I have ever had in my life, the whole ride in the taxi from O’Hare to the hotel was one extended, the most romantic kiss possible; there is no man on earth who kisses like that, I HAVE TO BE HONEST! yes, I invited him, and he immediately accepted; I was single for the first time as an adult, when I was 60, and I’m 62 right now…  I love when he carried me on his back in downtown Chicago; how he wasn’t ashamed to be seen with me at all.  All those conversations, 400 pages of text messages.  The way he asked to see me, the way after waiting 25 years, he had to wait an additional two weeks, for me to beak up completely with a man from Match dot com –who will be nameless also, a man who tried to blame his impotency on me, which prompted this man I trusted (!) to tell me that “If you could see me right  now, you  would see that impotency around you is hardly my problem” I did see that clearly! —Oh so clearly, using Facetime, and then in person… well… Save that for the movie.
We even planned that too, who would play me and who would portray him Anthony Quinn (in some sort of Scifi resurrection);  for  me, either Kerry Washington or Frema Agyeman from Dr. Who
Way over thirty years, and that’s why this hurts so much… I am unable to sustain anger (I was still married when he and I became friends who never spoke love, who never touched each other  but all along he was lusting it seems, although I wasn’t;  I confess that I never thought of him that way; I was all involved in a marriage the began in exceedingly difficult ways; I didn’t think about a lot other than finishing school, college and so forth. I was married before I graduated from college, of course. I was 17 when I graduated from high school, and when I first enrolled in college. I didn’t think that way at all until I was in that movie about poetry, and then I caught a glimpse of what it might be like being physically close to him;  I was close enough to smell the scent of his cologne, and to eye the patten of his hair, and to notice how he wore his clothes, and to glimpse the movements of his thigh muscles; okay, we all have our quirks, and I happen to like how it feels when that muscle contracts and expands under my hand, depending on whose thigh it is.  TMI!).
He has been so important to me, and I allowed myself to think of future days, to imagine what it would be like to have chance encounters, running into him at markets, the dry cleaners; I had even imagined what it would be like cooking for him, living closer to New York city after I sell my house, but for what?  All those dreams have shriveled up… He wasn’t thinking this –I WAS, about such a skilled Flirt, the best by far.
I am 62, and never knew what it’s like to be truly kissed,
the kiss from a man who’d been waiting to kiss me for 25 years… I can still picture what it was like, waiting for him in O’Hare (when I was 60); he was supposed to arrive first, but his flight from NYC was delayed, so I, an extremely nervous wreck,  had to wait for him, but he was so calm, because he finally had his prize: ME!
–I was his prize for a little while, and that’s why this hurts so much; he knows how to treat a woman when he wants to; he knows the things to say when he really feels them, the way to touch her, the way to soothe her, the way to make love to her, and I just wanted a chance to close the gap of physical proximity, and see what the effects of less distance between us could  mean… The way he walked to my gate, the way our first kiss ever was so public, right at my gate, just  a sweet little peck, how he stood in the distance, his long gray coat around him, what a cinematic moment… I remember sending him a text in the airport, and I love his response, “Don’t move, Baby; I’m on my way.”  
love-of-life-walk-33
Please, the man loves how I look! he told me over and over and over; “Beautiful” and “Pretty” –repeatedly.  The things I longed to hear, because although I was with my ex-spouse since I was 16 years old, my ex never told me I was pretty or anything because  and this is a quote, “my head would swell”), but this man always did.  One day, just sending me a text, “Thylias, you are one gorgeous woman” –damn right I am! and he could see this, and was not afraid to speak on this.
That’s what I like so much,
the way he treated me, the way he made me feel so special! –I felt things with him I never felt anywhere else! –such intense (orgasmic) pleasure just from kissing him in the taxi; he was not ashamed of this, released his full necessity to kiss me as he’d been wanting to for so many years, finally admitting to me that from the first time he met me in person for the shooting of a film about poetry, he’d been interested , and wanted to take me in his arms right then, although he was married, but he didn’t. He was obedient to the rules, and that told me a lot about how honorable he is.
He waited until he was single himself, and I was divorced from a man who never kissed me as this man did, but never will again… (I am always going to miss that kiss, but SHE WON’T, the “new” GIRLFRIEND, maybe she’s kissing him now; I don’t want to think about it); I was divorced from  a man who never said to me the things this man used to, saying them now to someone else, one lucky woman I despise, although I don’t know her and never want to.  
HERE I AM IN the dress I wore in Chicago for the last of my “Dream Dates” with him, and although my hair (which he likes, although he won’t get to see it, and run his fingers through it, finding no tracks and no glue and no extensions); and although I’m 62, he could easily lift me  (I really liked whenever he literally got my feet off the ground, but just being around him, just the sound of his voice, lifted me, and still does); although he likes long hair, mine is much longer now than when he saw me for that weekend, waist-length now, and the things he could do with this hair… no weave, no relaxer, no extensions –none.Thylias in Cushnie dress 2 copy
Tag for that dress; I bought it just to wear for him.:
cushnie-tag
img_0634
The flowers now, I will never destroy them; I will keep these remnants, just wish I had pressed them, but these roses  are dried  out,
completely dead
like our relationship. 
what a DISCOUNT (well, he DIS-COUNTED ME) on these roses as they are now, value only to me to whom, even in this state, they are priceless.
Other things I can’t show, for they would reveal his identity, and his identity is his, not mine, such a this handwritten ticket he gave in Minneapolis to his performance; the actual ticket is signed. but I will post a version without his signature:
detail-of-gamut-invitation-ipg
I love how he treated me at his performance, in a makeshift bar across the street from my hotel..  I arrived and just stood in the back, but as soon as he noticed me, he pulled me to the front row beside him and put his arm around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder until it was time for him to perform…  I am not going to say the our hands did not explore each other, and everyone could see that we were a couple in love… He didn’t try to hide anything. No one doubted that we were a couple.  It was obvious… But no more.  No more.  The relationship is DEFUNCT.
How the roses looked as I traveled home with them on the plane, such a sweet gift from the Dysfunctional Dandy;  he bought them for me right in O’Hare, pushing me in a wheelchair after the sweetest little first kiss:
dysfunctional-dndy-flowers

 

Thanks for the most sobering conversation, Mr. Diurnally Delightful Former Lover.  No more love letters from me, but I do hope that you liked them.

Congratulations on having a girlfriend in your life.  No need for me to say that I wish it were me. So I won’t.
Who knows the twists and turns of life.  If it’s over, then it’s over before it really had a chance to become anything.  Guess I can forget that except for how sweet it was.  The possibility of becoming something has shifted to impossibility, unless? (see how reluctant I am to kill the last drop of hope?) So many things I’ve dreamed about have to go to that graveyard of dreams, little things I’ve kept because they meant so much, and hoping, though you have a girlfriend, hoping to see you again.  Yes; that imbalance.  
I am more sad than angry, because you didn’t get to know the me I’ve become, and I would prefer that you, ah, a D-word, the right one; I would prefer that you Dump her and not the one that you remember, me: your GIRLFRIEND at the time, you said that’s what I was, you even said that at the restaurant where I had my first taste of liquor, your gin and pomegranate martini,   and you took my Chardonnay, and ordered a second martini for me, which  was way too much, considering my weight and my total inexperience with liquor (I was told before we even got together in Chicago that you are an honorable man who sometimes drinks too much, and  I told you I’d never had liquor before); guess you didn’t believe me, or it was just so surprising, even that I love you (now) as I  (still) do…  And that is true, And I did get sick from the martini and a half.
What difference would it make if I read at your club or not?  Would it matter to you?  And would seeing me mean anything to you? At all?  Well, if anything negative happens with you and that lucky woman in your life, please think of me, and I guess there’s no reason to invite you to my relocation party; I don’t want in any way to seem to interfere with your life moving ahead as it should.  As long as I don’t hear anything about you getting married; I could not take the implied permanence of that; not that I want to get married again myself, it’s just that marriage would put you officially off the market, and as long as you have only a GIRLFRIEND (!), you are still a bachelor, but apparently a fickle one at best, a bee buzzing about from flower to flower, pollinating, fertilizing them all, and that does sound a bit like you, Mr. Pollinator.  And besides, even if you were invited, I doubt that you would come.  
You always claimed to be so busy,and sometimes I am sure you were,  but some of that busyness had to be obligations to your current GIRLFRIEND (!), obligations you wanted to keep, and so you did; because they were important to you in a way that I am not.  I’m also sure that with your GIRLFRIEND (!) you do not have the problem of physical proximity; I am sure that that is not a problem at all. And even if she were a couple of hundred miles away, I am convinced that you would find a  way to go see her or invite her to where you are, where I still want to be, truth be told…
Never mind the sweetness; I will allow it to remain sweet.
Who knows, perhaps by next year when I return to Manhattan, you will be free,
but not likely for me
Mr. DEVILISHLY DECEPTIVE MAN, I am giving up.  
Seems that some changes are in order.  
This doesn’t mean that those objects I mentioned have lost or are losing their luster, just tarnished a bit, and I didn’t have my chance to try to make things better with you; I didn’t get to introduce the new and improved “Thylias” to you, and even if you met her, there is no way I would do anything (even If I wanted to [I do] —forgive me the  Mr. (Once)Diurnally Delightful man, but I must vent a little bit.  I want you to realize just what you are giving up, so your reduction was only the precursor to what happened this afternoon… 
I am all out of D—words right now. Dumbfounded, (self)-deceived. Oh the deleterious propensity of this entire matter, the utter disaster. the difficult debacle, disenchantment, displeasure, disillusionment, that too.  “Corner of your eye”, but never the center. 
I still want the romance novel all about being with a man like you, practically your twin, and the chapbook for that matter.  Hope that you still want Wannabe, Sir. I won’t bother to tell you what I wannabe. You already know, and I really told you way too much. I am not going to repeat to you, all the errors I made in trying, so futilely, to get you to love me.  
I told you I was being faithful to you, although I knew that you weren’t being faithful to me (although I never mentioned it,I assumed, I knew). Yeah, “all in“, you said but all in “what“?  I really was “all in“! –you know I was; all you had to do was say you weren’t; that’s all, and if you could say other things, true, at least, for the length of time it took you to say them, you could have said that I’m only “half-way in”, “a fourth of the way in” , ” a tenth”, one one hundredth” because I know you like reduction, and you even reduce our “precious” time together to goose eggs, nice fat zeros.
But even if I think of more, I won’t bother to disrupt whatever you have going with my little interest in you.
No, you do not love me.  
But I believe you did… You really did.  Finally you decided on some honesty to match the honesty I always showed you.  Always, please remember that! –you got honesty from me, and I gave you everything;
I gave you me, there is nothing more than that.
Despite ideas, as you realize how even the slightest glimmer becomes a lamp for me; despite ideas that seemed to suggest otherwise, I will just remember that you said them, just as I will long remember many other things, as I become only that sweet memory I was afraid of becoming.  Time is the enemy here.  I never got a chance to show you, and that is by far my biggest regret.  Glad that the chapbook by Thylias Moss and Thomas Higginson does not bother you.  My weekend project. Makes even more sense now, that your legal name not be on anything. I am sure your GIRLFRIEND (!) wouldn’t like it.
I am now unsure about next year…  I am unsure about possibly seeing you again and reading at your club; I am not saying that I don’t want to do this, but I am thinking about how it will feel seeing you again; thinking of my little poem: “All Is Not Lost When Dreams” (D-word) “Are” –one of my own poems from “Small Congregations”
(copyright © 1993 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.)
the New and Selected book of mine for which I hold all the rights:
ALL IS NOT LOST WHEN DREAMS ARE:
The dreams float like votive lilies 
then melt.
It is the ways they sing
going down that I envy and to hear it
I could not rescue them.  A dirge
reaches my ears like a corkscrew of smoke
and it sits behind my eyes like a piano roll.
Some say this is miracle water;
none say dreams made it so.
Long ago a fish forgot what fins were good for 
and flew out of the stream.
It was not dreaming;
it had no ambition but confusion.
In Nova Scotia it lies on ice in the sun
and its eye turns white and pops out like a pearl
when it’s broiled.
The Titanic is the one that got away.
I do not know how to gracefully bow out of a romantic component of being involved with you.  
I do not want to lie, 
so I will have to admit that I am involved only on my part with a man who has ceased interest in a certain kind of connection with me —side chick at the best! —that’s what I was, and now? Poof! memory and air.   The next man, #9, will be kind, but he still won’t be you.  No one will.  And I hope that no one in your life, will be me.  I still want to rank highly, as I become one of the number of women who have loved you.
–and no one understood “limited Fork Theory” better than him, he even wrote this to me, recently, about “The Fork of Love” , and I am so gullible that I believe it (not past tense, for I sill believe it:
Somehow it seems the fork of love will give you strength. That is strength I want you to have. Because this fork moves poetry and heaven and earth and hell and all history and muse push and language rush and Amstead and so so so much else, the All of It, I want to simplify my response to: I give you a life of strength and support in our friendship, and let you define the love for you. 
Silly me, I took that to mean that he might really love me, as I believe you did but not long enough or intensely enough to carry over time.  Yes, his heart is a real thing, nd so it mine. Friendship love, I guess, and not any other form, but you wrote “let you define the love for you”  What did you think I would do wth such a chance that you created, and surely you knew what would happen by “letting me define the love for me“, your love for me, so that is exactly what I did, I defined “love” the way I wanted to define it, encompassing of all forms, we would be able to touch, you know, as in “friends with benefits
Please notice how I bite my tongue, for I am not vindictive, and wouldn’t this be the time for that? I guess. 
And I do feel like an idiot for giving myself to you the way I did.  I will cease doing many things, now that I have reason to, except being your friend.  “Always” you said. but not your GIRLFRIEND; there is a distinction, Mr. DICTIONARY.
At least you did not lie.  And this explains why there was never anything in the mailbox, or anywhere else for that matter as there would have been had I only meant more as I really wanted to, you know I did.  But since changes seem to be in order, I will put them in order; I will no longer count you as anything more than my friend, since that is acceptable– friend. 
And see what happens form that.  Likely nothing
(I fear).
As for my extreme sexual frustration, that it all mine; it is not yours. And yes  I want to send you more selfies mostly because   I want you to see what you are missing…  You bet I do. Without doubt! But I won’t.
I will not even send that chapbook of our collaborations to you; you will have to buy one if you get one, and since you wrote the poems with me, maybe you’ll want one to add to the attic of memories that may smell as sweet as the cologne I wore when with you, your “Dream Baby” and no one else’s; my name came from your poem, and you liked that.  Liked that I really read your stuff, transcribed your podcasts also….  No one else ever gets to call me “Dream Baby, that was our name for me that I took for the poem you wrote for me.
Don’t ever forget all that I did from distance; the most that I could, all the time trying to get physically closer to you, and now there is no reason.
 Your opinion is just an opinion.  
Thanks for writing some poems with me.
As I also told him, because I still love him (although he probably  does not DESERVE my love anymore), but as I also told him (just before that  fatal for our relationship “GIRLFRIEND” blow):

“We have shared too much that has been sweet, sacred, and beautiful for soothing gestures that gloss over the underlying issue: my caring about you is so much that rather than hurt me, seems you resort to silence.  Only seems. 

I hope that I am wrong here.  
Hope, that this doesn’t mean you’re dead set against seeing me again.  I hope that whatever it is you will tell me; if you have already decided that seeing me again is out of the question for whatever reason, please tell me.  Please be as honest with me as I have been with you.  Even now. 
 All of this has been  most serious for me.  I never played or joked around with anything I ever did or said with you.  You know I didn’t.  I have been honest to the point where it causes me pain.  
All of my involvement with you has been sacred for me.

 

 
Despite the terrible heartache, how can I discredit those —blasted— “sweet” as you call them, sweet memories, because that is what I have become for you a “sweet” memory –and there are none sweeter, as you will find out, 
You recently, just last month had this to say about my selfies, right after telling me to “Relax, it takes time.  Why so choosey picky? That are all great as usual”  –didn’t sound like a man with no interest… I believe you still have interest, things were fine as long as I assumed that you were with others, as I knew all along, for that’s the kind of man you are, such a romantic, so full of those loving possibilities that women desire, but once you gave her an “official” title, “GIRLFRIEND” it was different, leaving no room for me.  
Excerpts from my Facebook posts as I try to cope with having lost the man I love:
How right you are, but he is honest now –as far as I know. He told me on Saturday that he no longer wanted to deceive me, and I appreciate that, but I DID NOT WANT TO HEAR THAT HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND! A GIRLFRIEND? –even made me wonder what was I to him? Of course, distance was a huge problem; he even said that it was. He lives in Manhattan and I live in Ypsilanti Twp, Michigan. I guess I am playing myself a little bit. We even wrote poetry together, and in the next couple of days, I will be completing a chapbook of poems we wrote together; we tried to have this chapbook before there were any problems with Persea books, but the head of the publishing company, K. Braziller, told me that that “too many books on the market by the same author only confuses reviewers who won’t know what’s important”.
We have written so many poems together, no doubt about that… Could be what I like best about him, that we shared writing… So we didn’t get to to have this book then. But very soon now. Probably no one knows but us the many poems of our collaboration… probably enough for two books. Some of my favorite poems. And, I didn’t say that I trust him. I can forgive him without trusting him. I do not trust him, and doubt that I can ever trust him again. Maybe.  With work, that is, if he wants me to trust him again, and why would he? Unless?  (whoa, let go of this hope, Dream Baby).  No matter what happens. Side Chick syndrome, that is indeed what I have.
He is indeed a dishonest man; I asked him why was it that he never surprised me at my front door, and why did I so seldom find anything from him in the mailbox, and he reflected on that a bit, and at first said he didn’t know why there was never anything from him in the mailbox and why he was never at my door, and then he told me that time and distance were the spoilers. Believe me, I didn’t want that distance problem.
We performed together in Detroit, MI, the whole thing was so sincere, that joint performance in the Hannan Cafe, following his reading of some of his poems  that was where he even met my son, and he prepared a dazzling surprise for me in Detroit, even reading the love poem he wrote to me; It was beyond compare… I had no idea the he was going to do that… I would post the poem but the wold give away his identity, and I am not going to do that… Of course, his GIRLFRIEND wouldn’t like that anyway.  But it is an absolutely wonderful poem. He just walked up to my son at the end, shook his hand, and said I’m So and So, and my son was quite impressed with you, your magnetic personality.   I feel it too.  And this is what another member of the audience had to say after we performed together:
Writer L Bush’s comments about the reading with THAT MAN,  MR. DEVILISHLY DELICIOUS in the Hannan:“Hi Forker Gryle; I did not film it; I shot pics. Had I known you would go OFF like that, I would have filmed it. I was totally unprepared for the Tina/Ike ( happy days) vibe you two had going on. It was FUCKING AWESOME! -w.”

and then he introduced me to this group of Detroiters, and then he proceeded to read some Love poems, including the love poem he wrote to me… I had no idea that he would be reading it; what a surprise that was. The first love poem he wrote for me, I at first accepted, and then rejected when I saw him reading it online, so I complained that he didn’t write the poem just for me, although when he sent to to me, he said, “Of course, it’s for you“, that DAPPER Prevaricator I still love, and maybe, probably  always will, every kind of love –(but I do not trust him; how can I?)  But I really want to trust him; I don’t like not trusting the man I still love…  if he is a bad man, I must check  my own systems of judgement;  I can’t believe I would have been so deceived. He is not that kind of man; is he?  If he wants me to trust him, I will try to work on this, but I cannot accept his current GIRLFRIEND (!) because not long  ago, his GIRLFRIEND was me].  dysfunctional-dndy-flowers 
And then he wrote a love poem obviously just for me, and with the particle physics in it, it was wasn’t a routine love poem, so I still have that and a few other trinkets, including the bouquet of Roses he bought for me in Chicago –where my parts in a movie, his brainchild, I think, were filmed, and where we met again after so many years; of course we had contacted each other off and on, over the years, but it was Facebook, that allowed us to have a relationship; within just a few days after I changed my relationship status from “married” to “divorced”, he contacted me, and I thought if was for the same reason the we had been in contact over the years, but it wasn’t. He told me that this time he had something else in mind.
Unlike my ex-spouse who had read none of my books, he had read all of them, and even quoted my writing to me… I never felt more special.
When I divorced after 40 years of marriage, 40 years with a man who never called me pretty, beautiful, or anything like that, this man always did! –and still does (he knows and likes how I look, but that isn’t enough), girlfriend or not; oh I remember everything precisely! those dates we had in Chicago were my first real dates, except that I was 60 years old, and he was 66, and he carried me on his back in downtown Chicago, and the traffic would pause to look at this spectacle, my short skirt even shorter practically to an obscene height, and he said to me as cars kept honking, and people kept staring at us, and I said what are these people thinking of us? and he said, you think they don’t know what we’ve already done? They know he said… We’re telling them now? There has never been a more appreciative man, until this. His GIRLFRIEND (!)
HERE ARE SOME D-WORDS OF MY IMMEDIATE REACTION:
01. DIFFICULT DEBACLE
02.DECEITFUL
03. (I was self) DECEIVED  (by a grand) DECEIVER
04. (your) DELETERIOUS propensity for
o5.    DIABOLICAL (LOVE) (D)CHICANERY 
06. I am apparently DISREGARDED 
07. DISRESPECTED
08. (BANISHED INTO) DESUETUDE
09. (UN)DESIRED
10. DYSFUNCTIOMAL DANDY
11. DIFFICULET DEBACLE
12. DISPLEASURE
13. (RE) DUCTIONS, his math, so that the total of all our years knowing each other become something so much less to him, especially after e become romantic, when things really meant more to me.. You must understand the long hours of talking, many, many of them… I can’t (well, I could, but I won’t.  Some things a woman never tells().  the way he asked for permission for everything he did, and if this is just the way he behaves in all his passionate encounters; he told me that “the fire would meld us together” and it certainly did, and how!
14. DISRUPTION of my life, in so many good ways, I’m reluctant toes it sour now… All he had to do was wait just a little longer for me; I was his, and I told him so, and no offense, can his new GIRLFRIEND (!) truly be better than me?  Do you realize what you had? Are you aware of what you are allowing through slip through your fingers?  Better than me?   You were a such a king with me beside you; you seemed to know that, for the was exactly how you behaved… 
15. (all of not lost when DREAMS are
16. DREAM BABY I was once the “cream in his coffee” –he told me the too.
cream-in-my-coffee
17. DISREGARDED
18. DUMP (he’s quite good at that, behaving like such a dump and DOPE of   man, but that;s not who he really is.  I got to see a tender side of I’m, that’s for sure.  To walk with him beside me; to feel his arms around me when I was on the ground, and when he lifted me. I asked him if he could, and at only  about 96 pounds when we met to move from mere friends into something that it seems unlikely to me any other man can attain, the assured me that it would be easy to lift tiny me, and it was in easy for him, but
19. now all that DISQUIET 
20. and DISTEMPER in my soul
21. as I continue to be knocked in a general malaise of DISPLEASURE and 
22. DOOM

although he is hardly the only man in the world, although I did everything to make him feel that he was, even just by having my willing company.  I even got a Brazilian wax for him; I wanted hm to be so pleased with me, and he was.  He just needed to wait a little longer, and he couldn’t, or at least, he didn’t, for whatever reason, but I am worth waiting for, and I told him that, being faithful to him because I was his, wearing the “For Sale ” t-Shirt, because shortly before the flight to Chicago and having the best weekend of my life (no lie), my ex told me that the man (whom he knew superficially of course) had bought me and threw two fifty dollar bills in my face.for-sale-t-shirt-copy

 Here I am, in what I wore on the flight to O’Hare; this is the woman who waited for him because his flight was delayed.  I was 60 yeas told, and such a tiny thing
23. DISENCHANTMENT
24. DUPLICITOUSLY DUPED
25.DE-Mused
26.DEBAUCHED
27. once DIURNALLY DELIGHTFUL
28. DISSOLVING and
29. DISAPPEARING and
30. DISINGENUINE love,
31.DEPORTED from his heart.
 What more can be said?  Ays the moment, I remain in love with him despite his GIRLFRIEND (!) -who is not me?   at the moment, the is where I am:

“Well, I have decided to remain friends with that man; he said that we are friends forever. We have agreed to that. He agrees that we have shared too much for over thirty years to call it quits completely.

and little fool I am, and caring for this man as much as I do; he knows everything about me, including the name of every man I’ve ever been with intimately; that is how much I trust(ed) him. Although I am 62, he is only man #8

but a friend like him is rare and I hope I always have his friendship, bottom line. So as friends we move forward,

but just the thought of never kissing him again leaves me so bereft, something I do not yet want to try to imagine. GIRLFRIEND  or not!

Hope it’s okay to say that I hope their relationship doesn’t last?

Bring on the voodoo dolls!

I’ve known him too long… He waited 25 years before he got a chance to kiss me, and that is something that will always be true. Always.

Whoever he is, and wherever he is, he is a most special man, and I have been 100% faithful to him, preferring flesh and blood to the dildo he gave me and named after himself; prefer (and how) HIS flesh & blood.

 

 

Some advice I was given on Facebook:

 

“It’s OK to forgive, but don’t play yourself. He should have been honest enough to respect both you and her.”

 

“Sounds so poetic, I hope that you heal peacefully from this. With love.”

 

“I’m no expert Miss, but I think you better separate yourself from communicating, and give yourself some space and time away from Mr Mistake. You have time to be friends after you heal. If he really cares about you he’ll stay away, if he doesn’t that will tell you he doesn’t.”

 

that’s it for now, the 

 

32. DASTARDLY DARLING

 

33. DAMN U (Prince)

Damn U lyrics:

 

Damn u, u’re so fine
Seems 2 happen 2 me each and every time we make love
I can’t hold back
It’s like having a hundred million little heart attacks
Damn u, baby u’re so fine
Damn this kooky love affair
All I ever want 2 do is play in your hair
2 people crazy in love
Into 1 another like a hand in a glove
Damn this kooky love affair
(damn u)
Like animals just born 2 breed
Come 2 think about cha baby
U’re my only need
I’m on fire ’til u come and put me out
All I’m trying 2 say is that my psychadelic shouts
When u damn me
Damn u
When I’m in your arms it’s all that I can do
When we’re makin’ love, I can’t hold back
It’s like having a hundred million little heart attacks
Damn u, baby u’re so fine

 

 

 

 

 

 
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