Forever might be short, but never is much longer. Hating may be brutal, but loving is much stronger. Cords that bind together may hold at any angle, but broken bonds of friendship are the ones more apt to strangle.
All things have their antipode and all things have their better. What we wrap around us may hug or it may fetter. In a world of opposites, be careful what you choose. Everything we reach for is something we stand to lose.
It is my conjecture that you’re given to embellish all of your old stories that you recite with such relish. Your lyrical relation at such volume and such length has informed us of your valor, your virility and strength.
Your life stories, meant to guide us, seem to form a primer for how to conduct a perfect life behavior but what’s more, should tell us about settlements and suits that might occur because in spite of all the truths you proclaim and aver,
folks with all the answers can be a pain to bear— the sort that former comrades want to get out of their hair. So former wives and partners might seek to find surcease by divorce or severance of contract or of lease.
So, after you have told your tales of glory at your leisure, will you tell your tales of suit, foreclosure and of seizure? If there’s a moral to the story, I have to say that it’s that those who tell the longest stories tend to leave out the best bits.
I hear that they’re researching cryogenic preservation, and I admit I view it with a certain hesitation. I’m drawn to such longevity, but must admit I worry about what aftereffects such a heedless act might curry.
As wily as I now may be, as cunning and as clever, will irresistible qualities remain with me forever? Will I be packed with garlic to keep me fresh and bugless? Will I still be so sexy after eons going hugless?
Can minds be kept as fresh as flesh? Can kind hearts be conserved? Can intellect and soul be saved and memory preserved? What good will body do one in a thousand years or more if they can not conserve those things we hold here in our core?
Zoe’s never been outside when I’ve been swimming before, so she kept me company. And did a little gardening at the same time. While we were conversing, I held her for awhile and dipped her in the pool, which seemed not to bother her at all. I then held my hands under her and she swam a couple of strokes to the edge of the pool and pulled herself out. I helped a bit. She was too young before but soon I want to try her for a bit longer distance to be sure she knows how to get out of the pool in an emergency. I don’t leave her out in that area when I’m gone––only when I’m here within eyeshot and she’s with the older dogs. She now sometimes sleeps with them in “their” room as well.
I’m inclined to winnow out friends who grouse and whine and pout. I prefer to share my housing with companions much more rousing.
It’s not that I’m beyond reproach, for my mood’s been known to encroach upon the moods of those around me,
yet, within reason, I surround me with folks of a happier bent who, if they rail and curse and vent, do so at a minimum
and once they’ve finished feeling glum, do not make their own frustration part of my reeducation.
One time or two I’ll gladly listen to your pointless constant dissin’. But if you’re gloomy day and night, kindly grant me a respite. Put my phone number on hold if you just wish to bitch and scold. You can always reinstall my number when you’ve cured y’all of your pointless railing at the traffic, neighbors or the cat. Fair weather friend? Indeed, I’m not. I’ll soothe your brow and stir your pot, but I will not be joining thee in the quagmire of your misery.
My induction to your heart was met with brackish tears intermingled, yours and mine, as though we both had fears. Would our love form a hybrid, jubilant and true, or would there be conditions, demands and counting coup?
Fresh love may be wild, rushing a vagrant course, sloshing over edges, straying from its source. But as it is a river, it will resume its banks and flow us down together, with our deepest thanks.