Dream time
So my poet is back. Two years have passed and for me it is like heaven again. He reads me stories and poems, takes me on hikes in search of all things native American. He spends a few nights, bliss. Even better then I remembered. but things are different for him. Two years gave him time to think or not think, whatever. I hear you can't go back, but I just don't compute that into reality as I slip into my own dream time.
I'll settle for crumbs, small moments of his time...it's that good. Two years gave me time to think too. Like how much I really really enjoyed his company, his style, his attention. Even crumbs are better than most of my relationships of never ending love. But he is more elusive than ever. When he is here he is so here and when he's gone he is so gone. He worries that I am sad. He doesn't want me to be sad but he doesn't want me either accept for a nibble here and there. But he doesn't really want anyone else. Just his writing...his personal dream time is spent tapping out story's, one after another.
so here I am, back to my faithful little blog. Still welcomes me in even though I haven't dropped in for years. Not a single word. Quietly waiting, not being coy for a moment when I do drop off a line or two. Maybe flowers would be nice.
