Dear Journal - 4-22-13

At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet ~ Plato

Dear Journal:

You must think that I have forgotten you! but fear not my true love, for you are always present in my thoughts, what will I write next to you I often think.  I’ve been feeling so inspired lately, it’s the Spring that brings this deep joy to my heart and when I feel this way, my mind is going in all kinds of directions and I try to find a place where I can sit still for a moment and remember and cherish and savor a moment a moment in time a moment that is just for me and my thoughts and him, him…… His name? Benjamin Nunez!

Oh YES! How can you think I would never write about him again? For he has been the main character of my novel for nearly six years now.  Yes, this novel, the one I call my life.  I have to write my novel, because if I don't, than how can it ever be real? I have to write my novel on these pages I call my journal, the one that knows all and nothing, so many things I can not share, so many secrets I have to keep from you sometimes, when? when will I be able to tell you all? all the secrets that only I know! but I do think of you each and every day and I wonder where I will take you, I wonder where we will go together in my life and I think of stories I don’t have time to write.  And the moments past and life happens and the words just stay inside, words that need to come out and on to this page.   

Yes of course I still think of him almost daily, for so long he was all the love that I knew, and all the love that I wanted and all the love that I could give.  But I have moved on I think sort of, and there are days that I forget he lives but then there are moments when I remember and in those moments I don’t feel bad about it, but instead I embrace them, I feel them and I let them go.  In this moment, I am writing to you to tell you the following….

The other morning I was on the train.  It was a beautiful beautiful Spring morning and I was wearing a new outfit I bought.  Pink skirt, white tank and a pink cardigan, me Jazzy wearing all that pink, I used to hate pink.  I sat on the train and all of a sudden I looked at my skirt and thought, oh wow! Spring! I sure do love thee! And then the thought of him took control of me, so many mornings had passed that I did not do that, you know, wake up thinking of him and for so long that is all I ever did, so many mornings I woke up thinking of him…I would say that maybe about 1,460 mornings if not more.  WOW! 1,460 mornings, that’s a whole lot of mornings.  Anyway, in that moment when I thought of him, I pulled out my iPhone and I wrote a poem, a poem for him.  I was going to put it on here sooner, but then when I went back to retrieve it, it was gone, I nearly cried because I was so upset that my poem had disappeared and I didn’t remember it all, but I did remember some parts, but it’s never the same, it’s not the same when it just flows through me like magic words, but I wanted to remember that morning, maybe it was last week, so I re-wrote the poem this morning or whatever I remembered of it and I tweaked it and cried a few times while writing it.  So many mornings, about 1,460 of them, that was a whole lot of mornings…. Him…. Benjamin Nunez! http://jazzy-jazzysjournal.blogspot.com/2010/12/omg-my-first-blog-entry.html

I hope you will like my poem journal.

Spring

Maybe in the Spring she said, said she maybe in the Spring.  And Spring sprung and Springs came and Springs gone and his face she never saw, but the memory of it stayed like the lyrics of a song

And one Spring morning as she thought of him, with her eyes closed she saw him there, for his face forever emblazoned in her mind.  His lips the color of Spring cherry blossom flowers.  Those eyes, OH! those eyes, so dark and deep and crisp like a Spring evening, and the time in the Spring when she looked in them, a shimmer of crystal, the sparkle of a galaxy of stars, the eyes that told her nothing, the eyes of a secret on Spring night.

Springs came and Springs left and his cherry blossom lips she never kissed, but in her memory still his face and in her heart still a trace, for he had her for so long or maybe still, for he had not gone, and the Spring would not reveal that it wasn't just in her mind it had all been so real.

And Spring she said, and Springs came and Springs sprung and Springs left and Springs gone.  And a boom of Spring flowers and a tiny bud of her love.  The love she once knew, a love so true, it was magic what they shared and no one would ever care, for only Spring could reveal, that their love had been so real.