Our Eyes Are Upon Us

The tall brunette tries not to let me see her eyes walk up and down me as she hasn’t decided whether to let the walls drop or build them higher.

She tells me I am shorter than she remembers and then waits for me to say it doesn’t matter if we’re lying down.

I remain silent as I am not bothered by any of this, not because I am still taller than her but because silence is my best tool.

She knows I can carry a conversation by myself if I feel like it and also knows I am capable of being stone silent for days.

We’re both posturing and dancing in a circle around the other, anxious to tear down the walls but concerned about the outcome if we do.

Funny to think how quickly we can fall in and out of routines.

When she turns away I take full advantage of not being seen and let my eyes stroll up and down.

Better Together Or Apart

During the moments of separation there are internal discussions about whether we are better together or apart.

Conversations in which we work to convince ourselves that together isn’t a good idea because it has hurdles and challenges that fantasy is best left as fiction.

Those work until the moments in which life intersects and conversation with eye contact resumes. There is a level of comfort and ease that is so deep we don’t notice it, but others do.

They remark upon it and ask how such a thing is and we laugh.

In the embrace of the midnight hours I think about that level of comfort and how rare it is, recognizing this is what it is when we are partially guarded, imagine what it is like when we let the walls down.

You could stick us in a closet or on an island and come back in a month and we would be ok because we like and maybe even still lust each other.

It is the lust part that keeps things interesting.

She tries not to discuss or acknowledge it, we suspect because it is like Pandora’s box.

It is a nice idea, except the box was opened long ago. We know what touch can do, especially when you don’t have to think about it.

Natural connection works.

We might too.

Are You Not Entertained?

The readers come and go with nary a comment or notice on the blog other than the loyal 17 longtime readers.

The refuse to give up or let go and so I send them these fragments of fiction and nuggets of not quite newsworthy nonsense hoping I find lightning in the bottle.

Are you not entertained is the question I ask, more for me and less for them.

10,000 posts haunt these walls and somewhere among the echoes and ghosts life springs forth, daring those who venture within to live.

And daring others to love.

The Tale Of The Love Story

Some of the longtime readers occasionally reach out to ask about the tale of the love story.

“Jack, are you ever going to fill us in and let us know what happened or is happening?”

I could tell you I got her or she got me and then she lost me or I lost her. Could mix it up and say we found, lost, found each other or some other kind of mix.

She might show up in the comments and tell you I am spot on, crazy or confused. But she could just as easily not say anything to you but give me an earful.

And for those of you who are truly curious, I won’t tell you if I think I’ll walk away with a big smile having just gotten lucky or if my face will look like someone just stuck it in a bonfire.

What Comes Next

Fifteen years of blogging is the kind of anniversary some celebrate and some ignore because it seems silly.

Count me as currently undecided but sort of amused that I have hung on as long as I have and in as many places.

The aforementioned ‘lady of the blog’ has been around for the entire run and seen almost all of it which makes me wonder if she has an opinion.

Ok, I lie, she absolutely has an opinion on it but whether we’ll discuss it now, later or ever is a different story altogether.

For the moment I suppose I’ll let you wonder about our dance, her and I because we have been doing it for years.

Sometimes we circle, sometimes we point, sometimes we can come together and sometimes we move apart but there is an odd sort of rhythm that follows…always.

All of which reminds me that while we can’t say what comes next we know life has a way of making moments.

The only question is do we love and live the moments or just pass through them.

Ain’t it all peachy.

The Words I Can’t Write Or Can I?

Got less than three minutes to throw a few things down upon the page. A chance to try to put down the words I can’t write or can I.

Maybe I ought to use music and let it speak for me and then agonize over whether the songs tell the tale as I want, hope and wish it to be told.



It is not easy getting older, now is it.

Truth In Publishing

The boy wrote 10,000 letters and the girl read almost all of them.

Sometimes she told him what she thought and sometimes he had to guess.

Sometimes he saw her and caught a look in her eyes that made it clear he could still see what lay beneath the surface.

He always remembered that whatever he could see inside her she could see inside him.

One day he wrote her a letter and said he knew she still loved him and that, of course, he still loved her because the kind of love they had never could die.

It might go through periods of time in which it slumbered a bit and there would be moments where it felt like maybe slumber was too generous a word. Moments where he was sure she wondered about it as he did, but then something would happen.

Always, something would happen and he would remember.

He assumed she remembered too and that she intentionally remained silent.

Perhaps it was because she couldn’t see a way forward or perhaps it was because she would protect her own heart by not allowing entry.

He always figured she avoided spending real time with him for that reason because distance made it easier to maintain the wall and the fiction.

Of course he thought there was always the chance he was wrong, but the actions showed otherwise, at least some of them did.

A long twisty road lay behind and perhaps in front.

Sometimes he thought about just pulling her into his arms and kissing her but he didn’t.

Once she would have melted into him and perhaps she still wanted to or would again, but she wasn’t the only one to protect their heart.