love in memory

If you find yourself about to turn fifty, in the midst of a global pandemic, already having survivor’s guilt, yet still afraid you’re going to die, waking up crying in the early hours of the morning from a vivid dream about yourself when you were 16… Well, you might have some things to work out. Maybe we all do. Here’s my attempt.

To firsts, and lasts, and in between. To once, sometimes, never, and always.
What might have been, what was, and what is. Hearts full, heavy, whole, or broken: your love was a gift.
In hopes it’s never too late to say I’m sorry, or to thank you.

This is a work in progress. Pieces might move around, change. I’ll add as I can. I’m trying for every week, but you know, things happen. And, apparently, it’s taken me more than thirty years already, so your patience is appreciated as I work through, and on, this stuff. I’m hoping it will eventually be in color, but the black & white* is a step along the way for me. Any lack of resemblance to people who knew me is entirely my fault and a result of lack of skill and practice. They’re all beautiful, then and now. So are you. Lastly, it’s all from my (probably gap-ridden) memory, so did all this happen? I think so, or I think so now: it’s how I remember it. But it’s a story, so there’s also a lot left out, cut away, pushed off stage to focus the spot on just this. I don't mean any hurt by it, and there’s so much gratitude for everyone in my life, I can’t even say: I have been so fortunate for all of you. — March 2021

* ”If you took all the girls I knew when I was single / brought ’em all together for one night / I know they’d never match my sweet imagination / and everything looks better in black and white”
Simon & Garfunkel, “Kodachrome/Maybelline” from the Concert in Central Park.