Speaking of...

RASA (sanskrit):
the ‘taste” or essence of any impression;
the aesthetic experience in transcendence;
the emotional fulfillment of the soul;
the essence of Divine Love.

My head is in the stars tonight. Infinite signs of affection. Infinite possibility to feel the sharp prick of loss. Is it better to feel the knife or to avoid the sweet fruit you slice? These are questions we have asked ourselves before.

Love is not new. This too we have discussed. The word too pedestrian. The sentiment used to sell makeup and airline tickets. But if this word no longer fits, what shall we call it?
I said to J. “I adore you” and his response was “... but that does not mean you love me.” And here I thought it did.....

But then again, I foggily remember telling a lover I adored him to avoid saying the L word. How petty.

I have friends who search for love. It is the slipperiest of quarries. It is the man who is smoke. The figment of your night wanderings. Dream and mist. An idealized version of yourself.
Is not the one we love based on a version of ourselves washed clean and made pretty? In my case, I hope not. But that may be the product of hitting the proverbial bottom. When I met J. I had given up finding someone who was real.

The online dating world is another albatross to meander through. Liars and poets alike. How many times did I fall in love with words only to discover that the man behind the fingers was only clever, not beautiful? Perhaps this is why I liked J. He was real. And honest. And smelled good. Or maybe it is the way he does not call me baby.

In my heart of hearts. In the heart of my dark night sky. There is only one constellation that burns a million miles away. I only have the energy for one dying set of stars. How lazy we become as we age. Lazy like an old dog unwilling to get up and chase the stick as it arcs into the blue.

This may be the reason we have not invented a new word for love. Laziness. The old word works just fine.

Now I like the complexity of words strung together. Worry beads of love. Sixty two steps to the doorway of love. Sixty two words. Sixty two sensations. One million ways to share love.

Ten thousand miles couldn't keep you
For you were more like the wind
All my life I will seek you
Deep in the core of my within

If I tried to see you now
You'd be dancing across the sky
And you'd be wearing your gypsy clothes
You'd be wearing one of your smiles

For now, love will be the simple. Deviation is not in the cards.
G.