Desiderare
“Our love was first, always, and forever. Thank you, for loving me. Til we meet again”— EAB
August 12th, 2016
Dear Candy,
October 26th 1969, we were 12. The apricot-toned curves of your face, now branded into my mind. The nervousness of your hands, ensconced in my fingertips. Prancing through Brittany hills was ommonplace. Crew socks would peek above your white girl shoes, pedal pushers, striped tees and pig tails, and I suspect I am staring at forever.
We were 16. Holding hands at the backyard fence, I was the backyard boy, and you—my apple pie. Sweet as the filling, thick and bronze as the river of butter sauce perusing her crust. Curly afro tangles would press against my chest and tickle my chin, and on prom night, I remember your dress, midway between butter and lemon, your gloves long and white grip your arms as moss to trunks.
Then we were 21, and I was looking for you, and it was me that was lost. I was looking for you and I could hear the sussurus of Sunbury Rd glaze my eardrums once again. I could see you dangling out that window with flailing arms, screaming, pretending, playing; and the crisp air caressed our coats. I was looking for you and I was confused. And I looked in that church, and I looked in that hospital. I was searching because being loved by you was like sienna, saffron, or sage. Then I heard about that chapel.
We were 38 and you walked in. Pretty french roll, french tips, pretty face. It was hot, I remember. Nothing soiled in your arms or hands and I guess you were just stopping by. I asked mischievously, “How can I help you today?” But the utility press drowned out your response, and only now do I realize how, as the trousers and blouses we too were imparted, and pressed, but I’d never let go of your hand and I just couldn't see it that way.
We were 53 and I was Batman. I made the call, I read the text, I met your family. We broke bread and sealed cracks with laughter and smiles until they bubbled over like lava from the crust of the earth. That was the second time that tears inched down your cheeks delicately as silk worms in the China sun. Both within and without, I was again staring at forever. So I made suggestions, I painted pictures, I daydreamed of possibilities, I dillied and dallied in yesterdays that never were... I gently and cautiously imagined.
Then I was 58, and I was staring at the earth; alone, exposed, and deep enough to cover me whole. In the end, it wasn't sienna, saffron, or sage, but dusty blue. As misty blueberries and daisies atop chocolate cake dusty blue held my breath, cradled my lifeblood and inspired hope to rise each morning. Dusty blue held the bones, and I stood as Ezekial wondering, pining about a rebirth. Then I threw my last rose upon your dusty blue, before the spoons began to shovel in more chocolate cake. And with every heaping I was buried deeper, until the unforgiving earth swallowed me up and spit me out.
I’m 70 now, and only regret the seventeen thousand eight hundred and eighty five days of which I was unable to have you. I've daydreamed more than any sane man can rationalize until it became a separate existence for me and yet in still, the whatevers which stood between you and I were not strong enough a force to pry you out of my heart. I’ve loved you in submission, insofar as I simply yielded to my heart's mandate of loving you eternally. I’ve possessed you without permission. And yes, I exchanged vows and I possessed you, and I saw the babies plucked from her birth canal, and I possessed you. You see, I am a great tragedy of love really. Once consumed of an extraordinary person, that is to say, I was once consumed extraordinarily. True love has both destroyed and contained me. There are slivers of me that have never been free; braided deep and stained with speckles of your iris, giggle, your being. I carry you within the fabric of me, Candy, and I miss you so.
Amo, ergo sum.
Sincerely, EAB
