Easy to Love

I asked him to leave last November - I stopped lying to myself; stopped hoping, praying, wishing, pushing to make it work. I surrendered and let go, consciously moved away from the dream I had for us; I am moving toward something I want to feel more. I let go with generosity and compassion, giving him until the end of the school year to move out, in order to make it an easier transition for him and our children.

The other morning, just two days after being told how hard I am to love, I received the below private message on fb. Just about every year, around this time, I receive a similar sweet note. I had an interesting emotional response; I sat down and wept. We had a tender, secret romance, we were never lovers, not so much as a kiss. Our lips brushed once. I was 14.

"There are brief, fleeting wisps of memories of when I was 17 and immortal. 

Some are shards; painful and best avoided. Some are like faded petals crushed between pages of an old book, having lost their scent and color but still possessed of their origin. 

But this time of year the air at night always conjures a perfect memory of riding my bike, surreptitiously, at midnight to rendezvous with you. 


The heady perfume of gardenia and jasmine adds to my intoxication as I behold your flawless ivory skin.  


Your eyes in moonlight clearer and more richly hued than ancient Persian jewels. Your smile brilliant and contagious. The thrill of riding to you and the exhilaration of being with you, and the pangs of leaving you. 

I knew love.

There was an innocence we shared, an innocence that got swept away by age and time and life. 

I wish I had the letters still. I wish I was still the invincible kid on a midnight ride. 

I wish there had been more time. 

But now, as I breathe in the spring air, I'm so very thankful for the beautiful memory of you."

I am reminded of how easy I am to love; you, ex-guy, just really suck at it.

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