I was about to be a published author. With the change in status, I thought I might now be exempt from making certain terrible decisions.
Nope. [Insert slap in the face.] Still human.
Losing the Man of My Dreams
Living a constant nightmare
only now wide awake and alone,
I close my eyes often, shutting them tight
desperately waiting for something that “might.”
Replaying you and me in my head now and then,
watching things wrong turned to rights—
in horror I view them, again and again
wishing so badly for a more decent end.
But the end remains the same
since my conscious did forget
about me as Venus, him on Mars—
the reason, surely, for our canceled stars.
I realize it all, though it all came too late;
in desperately trying
not to lose what was had,
I lost the very thing then made it go bad.
You pat my head as I raise my brow
nodding, all will be all right.
“It’s me I hate for acting weak...”
(And with that, the truth did finally leak.)
“I know, oh, I know this journey’s so over.
Listen close and be glad for I wish to admit
all the details before I chose to omit:
First there was violence (against women) in his past,
though he swore it only once;
no thief in the world could remove from you worry
that he’d hit me once, too, if ever in fury.
He had a wife and son, now was raising a daughter.
With that came some grief.
His needs weren’t met; he felt depleted,
so he found himself a mistress and with his mistress, cheated.
I doubt he ever trusted much
since his women often strayed.
He admitted with suspicions high
he’d proceed to stalk and snoop and spy.”
I know you think my dreams are mistaken,
with me this man had no business nor place.
It’s true he had issues and with them came fault,
but he still had my heart locked away in a vault.
Rest assured, though, I recovered—
with the key and with it pride.
Now I sleep more soundly every night
since learning how wrong for me was the same Mr. Right.
Mistakes happen whether you're three, thirteen, thirty-three, sixty-three, or ninety-three. However, if you beat yourself up over them too hard and too often, it becomes more difficult to recover over time (especially at ninety-three, I'm sure).
Stress is real. And it's bad for you. So, let some things slide. Remember relationships are difficult at any age. Even lasting ones. Especially loving ones.
Think about it: of all the people you encounter on a daily basis, how many of them do you actually come in contact with? Of those people, how many do you willingly stay in contact with? Which ones do you intentionally seek out? The number can be pretty low some days.
People are tough!
To add to pre-existing humanoid complexities, the dating scene is constantly evolving, and in 2016, it isn't always pretty, either. You're not immune to the euphemism, "Netflix and chilling", until you try watching a movie and relaxing with a person having other activities in mind. (Note: A bowl of popcorn can easily double as a safety device if needed.)
It's okay to own some naiveté in your lifetime. Simply chalk up your previous lack of judgment to being just like anyone else and do better next time. Your ninety-three year-old self will thank you! However, if you find yourself on the brink of being dangerously naive, try reading a related book, seek out a helpful podcast, attend a workshop, join a support or interest group (you can find tons on Meetup.com), or perhaps talk to a trusted family member or friend (or professional!). The condition is totally treatable, though a cure has yet to be developed.
It was music at first sight for featured artist of the week, Kristina and Alexandre. As of September 2015 they have created six albums, ranging from a Requiem to instrumental music for yoga. They compose playful tunes for children and even mastermind romantic and existentialist themes for adults. All are born of deep friendship between the artists, a love of language (Latin, Lithuanian, French, English etc.), and close collaborations with friends who happen to be poets. Their original compositions have a distinctive musical personality, charming anyone who lends an ear. Take a deeper look at their discography or join them on Facebook.
The song, Corto Maltese, describes a complex sea captain-adventurer, the antihero—"a rogue with a heart of gold"—from the comic book series of the same name by Hugo Pratt. The refrain asks what love spell has trapped his heart and causes him to run ceaselessly to the edges of the earth in attempts to escape it.