Of Laughter and Departures

Okay, the title is kind of lame. Honestly, I am half asleep as I am writing this. So please bear with the title.

I just got back from the San Francisco International Airport. My sweetheart is catching a red eye flight to Music City (Nashville) to perform and to receive an award. And I discovered that we both have a penchant for airports. And we both feel that airports emanate a certain sense of adventure.

We had dinner before we left for the airport and it was one dinner where we laughed the most! We laughed so much that I think my abs are now actually tighter. Maybe not tighter, but at least they feel like it. :) His sense of humor is awesome!

He msut be boarding now.

And I'm running out of things to say. I better quit.

Good night.

Hearts in San Francisco

Transamerica Building - SF
Originally uploaded by Waves.

There were two hearts in San Francisco - his and mine - one beautiful Friday night. It was July 30th, a date I will never forget.

He took me on a little get away to the City 22 days after we first met. Yes, I work in the City and I used to live there. I have memorized its sound like an old familiar song - cars honking, cable car bells ringing, fire engine sirens blaring . I know its streets and alleys like the back of my hand. Ahhhh, but how wonderful it was to experience the City through the eyes of a spellbound, lovestruck girl.

We sat in a coffeeshop for an early evening cup of coffee, like two lovers from across the globe, basking in romance that is San Francisco. I remember him looking into my eyes. No, he didn't say a word. But the moment I gazed back at him, I knew then that I was loved.

His touch was gentle like he promised. His kisses so tender. He carressed me in places that invoked passion and desire from within. Through his lips and fingertips I discovered parts of me that I never knew existed. He made love to me, slowly and tenderly at first, progressing to a rapid but steady rhythm until our minds and bodies locked in a spiritual embrace.

I was breathing heavily as he carried me away into a blissful place I have never been. He took me into soaring heights again and again and again. I felt his skin and his tight body on me. I felt him in me as he enveloped me in his arms in a perfect rapture. I felt him and I knew then that I wasn't dreaming.

He held my hand, our fingers locking together, as we walked to the movie theater. He wrapped his arms around me as we waited in line, his head nuzzled on my shoulder as he sang sweet melodies that enthralled me. He didn't know but at that moment I was totally swept away by his enchanting voice. He didn't know that the feel of his warm breath on my ears sent shivers down my spine and enkidled an already blazing desire in me.

There was something in him so spellbinding, so enthralling. And that night I made a total surrender of myself. I gave myself, my whole being to him; to him who roused me from a deep slumber, to him who awakened my senses so I can give.

And he whispered: "This is just the beginning."

I knew then that I was loved - and that I was ready to love without holding back.

My Dream Cowboy

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I do not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

-Pablo Neruda

Free on a Friday (Part II)

My brain is empty. My body is tired. My heart is exhausted in anticipation of seeing him. It's time for me to hit the sack and forget that tonight is Friday night. Forget that I am free again on a Friday night.

Free because my sweetheart is at the studio busy honing his recording skills. Free because all my friends are either married or committed and they are all having their little Friday night out. The only girl without a date I knew is working until midnight so I had no choice but to sit here in front of my computer and try to write something as mundane as this.

Writing this right now is nothing but a sign of my desperate attempt to fill this Friday night void. I am trying to convince myself that Friday nights are no big deal. I can always go out with him on a Saturday night. Not tomorrow for sure because he has to spend more time at the recording studio.

It just sucks because the weather had been so perfect, perfect for a drive up or down the California coast. But I guess I just have to suck it up and act like sitting here tonight, on a Friday is not a big deal.

Nope. Not at all. I think I should start learning how to get used to being free on a Friday night.

Actually, I am not-so-free tonight, tomorrow and for the rest of the weekend and maybe for more weekends to come because I am waiting here, hoping he would call and tell me he's free, that we're both free and we can just run away.

Run away tonight. Run, run away. Far, far away....

Drifting Away

Tomorrow I am going to my friend’s wedding in San Francisco. I will be a witness to their vows, vows I have ceased to believe in.

Right now, the love of my life is in San Francisco, at the International Airport, to be exact. He is dropping off his princess daughter to meet up with her mother. They are going to India for a month. At this moment, he could be talking to her, her daughter’s mother. Her, who he shared his DNA with. At this moment, he could be giving her a hug, you know the friendly ones you give and get too often sometimes. But it could be, that at this moment, his heart is beating faster than usual because he is standing face to face with the woman he used to love. IT could be that they are falling in love all over again, and their little princess daughter, standing on the side, looking up at them, smiling as they gaze in each other eyes.

At this moment, I am sitting here typing away my thoughts. I have to because these thoughts are toxic but not toxic enough to kill me yet potent enough to keep me awake all night. I am going to a wedding tomorrow and I can’t afford to stay up all night wallowing in poisonous thoughts such as the ones I have at the moment.

At this moment, I am staring at my cellphone and my house phone wishing either would ring so I could hear his voice. I am wishing he would call and assure me that everything will be alright. That tomorrow when I wake up, he will be there and we will fall in love all over again.

Hell, at this moment, I am tormented by demons. Demons of doubts and suffering. Demons that I have long exorcised.

At this moment I need to make a decision.

And as I am typing away, I did. I decided, that at this moment, all that matters is the Tylenol nights in front of me. Gotta take them, turn my radio on so it would lull me to sleep. I need something to chase these demons of doubts away. Right now, at this moment, he must be headed back home.

But at this moment, I am too tired to doubt and I am too tired to trust. For once, I will let myself drift.

Yes, for once, I am drifting.

Dum dum da da da dum. Lalala Drifitng away….

Paint Me A House

I was strolling along Pier 39 in San Francisco when I saw an old artist sitting by a corner. A small crowd gathered around as they watched him perform his artistic ability. I stopped and peered through and saw him painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Beside him was a collection of his artwork, all of the Golden Gate Bridge in different angles and moods. With just a few cans of paint and brushes he can create one of the most beautiful painting of the bridge I have ever seen.

The crowds came and went until I was left standing by myself. I told the artist how much I admire his paintings then I asked, “Do you paint other subjects aside from the famous Golden Gate Bridge?” “For a pretty girl like you, I would paint anything,” he answered. I smiled and asked him a favor, “Could you paint me a house?”

And he did. Whites and greens, reds and blues, he mixed the colors until he created the most beautiful house I have ever seen painted. Then he looked up at me and asked, “Do you want a swing under the big oak tree?” I nodded.

He handed me the beautiful painting as I gave him $30 for a job well done. As I stood on the street corner with the painting in my hand, memories from the past came flooding in. I cannot help a tear drop fall as I reminisced our bittersweet memories.

I remembered the house you painted for me. Didn’t you asked me too, if I wanted a swing under the mango tree? So you painted a swing, a tire swing. It took a while before you finished the painting because you said it was a labor of love. When you gave it to me, you said it came with a promise. A promise that we will spend our future together. That we will build a home and raise a family, put a swing out in the yard and live happily ever after.

But while I was gone I heard that you “painted” another house. And that you also put a swing under a mango tree. So I came back and I saw it. But this time it was not just a painting. It was a beautiful house standing like a solid rock. It also came with a promise. A promise that you and my best friend will raise a family, put a swing out in the yard and live happily ever after.

I did not notice the crowd that started to gather around the old artist again. The artist looked at me with deep pain and sadness and said, “I know. I understand.”

I walked away clasping the painting to my chest as I let tears of melancholy freely fall. No, I will never know the artist’s love story and he will never know mine. But he spoke to me in the universal language of pain and betrayal. I saw it in his eyes and he saw it in mine.

I Don't Need To Know

He described her in details making me believe that a vivid image of her was imprinted in his memory. High heels, naked calves, cleavage, sundress swaying in the air. No, those are not the words you and I would want to hear, especially from your significant other. But I did. I heard him say those words as he described the principal of the school where he enrolled his princess daughter.

Naked calves? What the hell is that? I don’t quite get it. And no, I am not the kind of woman that would look at a man and see which body part is naked and what is not. Hell I don’t even try to picture a guy naked even if I think he is the fucking hottest man around. No, I sincerely don’t.

Cleavage. Yeah, baby. Sure, she’s got cleavage. And I fucking don’t? Yes, sure, I don’t! It’s too bad I was late when the gods of cleavage were distributing them to the first 1 million women who showed up. Too bad I was busy raiding the refrigerator for another scoop of Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream and I forgot I needed cleavage to be noticed. I’m glad I got some leftover brains from the brain gods. Because if I didn’t then I sure am fucked.

Sundress swaying in the air. Ooooooh. Nice, eh? Well, I don’t own a fucking dress and I do not plan on owning one. He can stare at women dressed in their nicest, flirtiest skirts and blouses, dresses and whatnots, but I am not conforming to what pleases his eyes.

Maybe I do not make sense, but hell, I hated his detailed description of her. Those are the words I can live without. Those are the things I didn’t need to know.

I wish I can erase the memory.

Done venting.