My name is Losko Orlov. I found love and the happiness it brings. I have also learned its greatest lesson…
If you love them, let them go.
See the pyramids around the Nile
Watch the sun rise
From the tropic isle
Just remember darling
All the while
You belong to me
I first met my love in 1899. Well, not met, per say. We passed each other a lot while walking to our various destinations. She was a newsie, and I was upper class. Yet I never saw the ink on her hands and face, or the dirt that she never bothered to get off of her pants and shoes. I saw the most beautiful woman inside a girl every time she smiled back at me.
One day, as I was walking to the train station, we had a chance to talk. She had literally bumped into me and fallen. What a tough little girl, I had thought as she had ignored my hand as she got to her feet. When she looked in my eyes, I saw so many emotions. I later discovered that it was mainly love.
We talked, and we laughed. It seemed like my train came too soon, but I knew I would see her again. And I did.
I saw her as she got on the train a few years later with another man.
See the market place
In old Algiers
Send me photographs and souvenirs
Just remember
When a dream appears
You belong to me
In 1909, whatever had happened in the past, happened, but none of that mattered anymore, because I found her again. She was so beautiful; I could hardly believe my eyes. She had been hurt too many times over the years, and it had taken me over one year to convince her that I was true.
Within the next year after, we were married. She was the most beautiful bride…and the most mischievous. No matter how the years passed, she was still the chaotic newsgirl she had been at heart. We celebrated our honeymoon with wine, love, and firecrackers. She laughed whole-heartedly, her eyes smiling and her mouth impish. And I begged her to let me paint her that way.
Soon after we returned, she started showing signs of disease. She would have intense fevers and headaches. Her hands would shake as if nerves wracked her body. And still she'd smile and carry on as if nothing ever happened.
And I'll be so alone without you
Maybe you'll be lonesome too
I remember the way she'd always sing. Happy songs, sad songs, silly songs that she'd make up…anything. I'd always know she was home by the way she sang. I loved her deeply.
As the years wore on, her condition worsened. Her legs would give out on her, and she'd have the most terrifying dizzy spells. For a time she had to be put in bed because she couldn't stand up straight, but she kept getting up and stubbornly refused to be held down.
I remember a time when we had an anniversary party. Many of our closest family and friends came to wish us well, and we had a ball. But soon her legs gave out on her, and I had to catch her before she fell. We blamed it on the drink, but we all knew she had had none. Everyone knew of her disease, and she cried out of shame as I carried her to bed.
Fly the ocean
In a silver plane
See the jungle
When it's wet with rain
Just remember till
You're home again
You belong to me
The doctor simply told me that she would die within the year. I didn't want to believe it, and I paid any price asked to keep her well. No one knew what ailed her, and when told that she was too weak to do anything, my love just laughed and waved them away saying, "You're just being a male. Let a woman handle it." She lived through the next two years at home.
Oh I'll be so alone without you
Maybe you'll be lonesome too
Again, the years wore on, and even though she was told she couldn't, my love and I had three beautiful children; two boys and a girl. My love was afraid that she had passed on diseases to the children, but was told that it was nonsense. She smiled at me saying, "I got the special treatment, then."
By the year 1949, my love was permanently placed in a hospital for the terminally ill. My children and I were always by her side, and there was always a friend to bring music and laughter with them.
My heart broke the day she couldn't see me. Her eyes had just given up on her. Yet she still smiled in my direction and held me as I lay with her. Through my worry, she sang to me, and said, "You're just being a male. Let a woman handle it."
Fly the ocean
In a silver plane
See the jungle
When it's wet with rain
Just remember till
You're home again
By the year 1952, we were both old and seemingly useless. I still had my art, and I could still do a fair bit of painting now and again, despite the shakes I had. And I would always see my love.
One day, as I lay my head on her chest and she stroked my hair, she died. Yet, as she ascended to the heavens, I could still hear her sing to me. My impish newsgirl; my love.
You belong to me.