tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9792709765614621142024-03-13T11:56:02.531-07:00True LiesLahelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03961276295916825681noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-979270976561462114.post-62220437692200759552007-12-01T23:19:00.000-08:002007-12-01T23:34:52.715-08:00Poem #2 (draft, E) - Coincidence, PerhapsI mentioned a singer I like; you said you have his CD in your office<br />Coincidence<br />But you didn't have to tell me that -- you could have said you know the name<br />Perhaps you wanted me to stop by and listen<br /><br />I'd been to Der Zauberfloete twice, when you offered tickets<br />Coincidence<br />But you set them aside for me<br />Perhaps you were disappointed when I didn't take them<br /><br />That book you brought -- I was the one who took it home<br />Coincidence<br />But you brought it the day after I mentioned it<br />Perhaps you meant it for me<br /><br />It was Valentine's day when you brought it<br />Coincidence<br />But you knew what day it was<br />And perhaps you suspected I'd have nothing else that day<br /><br />Now that I've lost my fear of addressing you, I'm a thousand miles away<br />Coincidence<br />But I still wonder what you thought of me, really<br />Perhaps I suspected you cared<br /><br />Perhaps you didLahelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03961276295916825681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-979270976561462114.post-55737704062354692482007-12-01T23:10:00.001-08:002007-12-01T23:19:16.023-08:00Poem #1 (draft E)You mentioned your garden in the mountains,<br />And I followed.<br />The sun was breaking on the rocky path<br />When I arrived.<br />The snow all mixed together with the green,<br />And I could tell myself:<br />My heart is only racing from the climb, from the spring.<br /><br />I paced, to calm myself before I knocked.<br /><br />The man who opened the door was kind;<br />He is your son.<br />"Are you looking for my mother?<br />She is in the garden."Lahelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03961276295916825681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-979270976561462114.post-7203599559238643172007-12-01T22:58:00.000-08:002007-12-01T23:09:42.025-08:00SneakingSo I didn't get around to describing the scope of the blog. This blog is what I'm going to write in, every time I start missing the man or thinking of him too much. I need an outlet. I don't think that expressing emotions is necessarily good; "venting" may do more harm than good. This is my heart, not a boil that needs to be lanced.<br /><br /><br /><br />Let me call Love #1, my past and current partner, my Partner. Love #2, the one I never talked to, is the Magician. The character referred to in <em>Reading Lolita in Teheran </em>as "my magician," is so similar to this man that I could have sworn they were the same person. But one is Iranian, and one is European, so that can't be the case. I never finished the book, because reading about Nafisi's magician was so intimate and painful.<br /><br /><br /><br />My Partner and I were both classmates in the Magician's class. They didn't seem to like each other much.Lahelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03961276295916825681noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-979270976561462114.post-86746178419045757922007-12-01T18:15:00.001-08:002007-12-01T18:30:20.922-08:00Scope of the blogI've been with one man in my life, and he is a wonderful, humane, literate, clever human being.<br /><br />I'm also mentally ill. I do not see clearly at times. I accept full responsibilty for everything I have done, but I also protest that my judgment, at times, has been clouded through no choice of mine.<br /><br />I have never actually been unfaithful. As strong as my feelings have been, as much as I have been unfaithful <em>in dreams and imagination</em>, I tell myself that real infidelity -- having an affair in real life, in real coffee shops and real hotel rooms, with a real human -- would be the first step on the slippery slope to suicide. I can carry regrets, but I cannot carry guilt. It would murder me. I am sure of this.<br /><br />At the same time, it breaks my heart that the second man I loved, who never knew I felt anything for him, is someone I will in all likelihood never see again. I've moved halfway across the country, and I have no occasion to write to him or e-mail him. I miss him terribly.<br /><br />I would have loved to be his friend. He seems to be a proud and, in a way, stern. I can't imagine him doing something that he truly felt to be wrong. I have reason to believe that he is happily married, and I do not think he would stoop to an affair. Friendship would have been possible, because I am sure that I interested him -- he liked my writing and showed real interest in what I said. I felt such warmth from him, but not in a sexual way. It was the warmth between two citizens of the same country who unexpectedly met in a foreign land.<br /><br />I want to lay a book on his desk, of poetry, about how one human can love another human so much, even though they may be unknown. I will say, "I wrote this for you," and quietly vanish again.Lahelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03961276295916825681noreply@blogger.com0