Weekend wife

It's an odd regret to have, really. I have no photo of Dave - that's not the regret - but I didn't say goodbye to him, and that is the regret. The fact of not explicitly parting ways is not an odd thing to regret on the whole, but the fact that whether I said goodbye to him or not would not change a thing makes it a little strange that I'm still thinking about it.

He's a tall, skinny accountant from outside of Philly who, in addition to being a great tango dancer, has one of the most bizarrely interesting hobbies I've encountered - circus arts. He is funny and charming, and we fell naturally into joking conversation during which we negotiated the terms of our imaginary marriage. He owns a house, but I can't move to Philly, so I'm destined for a life as a weekend wife.

Maybe the real regret is that I didn't dance with him one more time, and that I won't get to dance with him any other time either. He was fun and real and did not take himself too seriously on the dance floor, which made him an ideal partner. A great weekend husband, if you will.

I would be remiss if I didn't add an updated note on my weekend husband. I got to say my goodbye, and not only did that vanquish my regret, it also gave me a new friend in Philly.

Ode to mixed signals

If only I could write you a poem

...but you are a poet.

What about a love song?

...you're a composer too.

A clever allegory or some brilliant prose would do.

...you plan to make your living as a writer.

I could write a dance piece, or perhaps just dance with you.

...you're better at that too.

Tell an original joke?

...you did a stint as a stand-up comic.

What could I possibly offer you?
You are chemistry and art and brain power and laughter and charm.
You are creativity, you are patience.
You are cynical songs and unconsciously romantic notions.
You are dance.
You are criticism, you are confidence, but you are warmth and you are not condescending.
You are touch. You are a million kisses.
You are seizing the day, but you are responsibility.
You are aware, you are intellectual curiosity, you are sweetness and you are sexy.
You are everything, which also means that you are sensitive, you are self-involved, you are an artiste.

I suspect that the years between us are of more consequence than the distance, but nevertheless, you are,

for a couple of days, for tango and lunch and laughter and driving around aimlessly,

Perfect.

And then,

You are gone.

And I am truly and completely
Perplexed.

WTF mate, WTF?