I still miss you almost as much as I still love you. You visit me often in my dreams...and I listen, or at least try to. The world still has so much hate. And worse, people are even more self-important than ever. I cry to think that your death was for nothing. No one learned anything.
I'm sitting here thinking of your smile, your laugh, your touch. The pain is still great but ten years later, its easing up a bit. Its being replaced with sad but sweet memories. I remember the day in the park when you were sewing up my favorite shirt and I was playing guitar. My car died in front of your house that night. I guess it was just another one of those signs that we were supposed to be, if at least for a little while. You were always so proud of the little accomplishments I made in life. More proud than I was. The look in your eyes when you would tell me how proud you were...the thought of it still leaves me paralyzed with love.
My mind keeps going back to the moment I fell in love with you. The moment I knew. We were standing on the corner, waiting to cross the street to go get ice cream. It was such a hot day. But there you stood, Amazonian in stature (I know...you always hated when I called you that). You were wearing shorts and that shoulderless top, hair down and your big ol' movie star shades on. I looked over at you and realized you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen...inside and out. Lord knows you had a knack for pissing people off! But if you pissed them off it was because you were right and they were wrong...and they knew it. You were never smug about it. Just very matter of fact.
I remember that first 4th of July together. Parked down by the river, watching the fireworks. I was feeling my typical nationalistic pride and you shot it down with "Home of the free, my ass!". When I asked, somewhat perturbed, just what you meant, you told me. You weren't argumentative. To you, it was as easy as explaining that what goes up must come down. You pointed out how we here are all still slaves. Slaves to corporations, media, and the almighty buck. You pointed out that most of us would probably run screaming from true freedom. You amazed me.
I remember the many times I would be sitting in the basement, drinking and writing songs. You would come down and just watch. Often with a tear in your eye. God, how you loved creativity. I remember everything about you. About us. Its all like it was still going on. Perhaps it is. In my head and heart.
I have big plans for this year. I wish you were here to experience them with me...but you are. We both know that.
I still love you my little petitsa na poby.
Namaste my love.
M
