Another year of being Gawne
by David Huff
As I endure another hot and humid Florida winter, I am reminded that she is another year of being Gawne. I can feel the warm winter wind steadily blowing, and see how the birds have refused to pack up and fly on.
Even the trees around me are still so green, even though winter is supposed to be near.
But as she one time told me quite sadly, it is always summer here.
And as I sit on my patio and watch the neighborhood's grasses grow, on another perfect Saturday.
The whole world around me stops for a moment, while my thoughts just seem to scatter away.
Yet, they always seem to reorganize, about a woman whose mentality I will forever adore,
and how I have burned my last memory of her into my mind, so when I need I can see her perfection once more.
I cannot fully express how much I miss watching her walk and listening to her talk,
she always had something intelligent to say to me. And now her voice is just a mentally burned fragment, of a life time of faded favorite memories. Sometimes I can only sit and be reminiscent about her lost friendship, which to me is now too far away. I can only miss her sarcastic and existential undertones, those absences add to my growing self centric dismay.
Through the stillness of the night I can hear the whispers of her laughter, those echoes rush through my mind so fast. So many times and so many lost opportunities with her, I will miss her every time I look back at my past. Still sometimes I cannot help but to think, about how much better her new life must now be. Yet, I cannot stop wishing every morning of every new day, that I would wake up with her sleeping next to me.
During the late afternoon I venture to her new blog site, so that I can see her every new obtainable day. To view her new experiences that I should have shared with her, Just more baggage added to my personal misery. Absorbing her new memories without me being far off and in foreign places, forever I can study her beautifully perfect face. I wonder at times if she would smile and look over at me, if I was standing with her at that time and at that place.
Still I try to absorb her voice and her smell, from the warm and humid Florida plain.
Only to wonder why she could never love me, and if those thoughts I should even try to personally explain. Endlessly I continue wondering about all of our lost possibilities, without any kind of realistic end. Only to know that my absence of her is my personal prison, which will be forever endless without my missing friend.
After a moments absence I slip back to the leaves that are twirling, and how they swirl all around the motionless Florida oak trees. To see how the sun is so bright and so powerful, and how the flowers are still being molested by bees. Yes this is another hot and humid Florida winter, and I should really go cut my ever growing lawn. But all of my other surroundings become increasingly meaningless, while my love who hates me is still another year of being Gawne.
To me it is o.k. that I was not good enough for her, but what I will always remember about her most of all was that she never even gave me the chance to be. Now though, it is her loss,
because now that these words are written I can finally move on while letting her memory fade away.
But, I know that I will never be able to let that happen fully. Because love is about
the memory of those that you love, whether they reciprocate the feeling back to you or not.
I guess I should just take a lesson from the French, they just say Ca Va.