its not what you think. actually. its the complete opposite. its not that i haven;t had a  weblog worthy day since the last time i've composed an entry. in fact, its because i've had far too many. i wish i could relate every second that has passed from then till now and every meaningful nuance contained therein. but i can't. not in words. that would take forever. and pictures? well... that'd juss be forever divided by a thousand. i find myself speaking through my actions more and more often nowadays. nothing big. don't be expecting to round a corner to me breakdancing or waltzing to frank sinatra's  new york, new york. its all about the little things. the way i walk. talk. and eat even (the salad bar and i are fast becoming good friends). its the way i carry my books in the left hand so i can shake with my right. i look forward to a simple quiet night when i can sit down and talk, most likely for hours, about the last few months of my life and how so very far i have come since then. maybe it'll be soon. and maybe. my friend. it may be with you.

love is like jumping. over a cliff. out over an endless plain of jagged rocks. and expecting the wind to carry u forever.

Lesser loves. those experienced by the more cautious lovers. float gently or glide slowly, carried by the winds of love close to the ground. so should they fall. they will neither be too far out into the endless plain or suffer more than scrapes and bruises.. or at worse something sprained.

Then there are those who soar to infinite heights. Taking in the sky. Diving at blinding speeds. Wheeling in great circles. Flying fast both far and wide. The sky is their playground. Yet should they fall. They plummet. Every bone is broken. Every muscle and ligament torn.

The catch is. In love. No one dies. Not even from the most grievous of wounds.

After crashing. Some take the path that appears to lead them back into the forest of ordinary life from whence they came.

 Some despair and either lay where they have fallen or forsake the path and wander the rocky plains, full of hate, to fall elsewhere, never to rise again. Their wounds never heal.

Then there are those who undergo the excruciating journey of forgiveness, the long and arduous trek back to the base of the cliff. Enduring much pain and leaving a trail of blood. Yet by the end of the odyssey, they are stronger than before, their muscles toned from the exertion of climbing over the jagged rocks. By the time their journey of forgiveness is complete. They are healed.

They then are faced with another choice. Some choose to return to the forest and never fly again.

 And some. Some climb the cliff. Some decide to love again.

And love is like jumping. over a cliff. out over an endless plain of ragged rocks. and expecting the wind to carry u forever.

this entry has been inspired by the crystalized writing of one of my dearest friends. his writing always serves to bring my head out of the clouds of romantic optimism. i wish i could write as he writes. he's as much in love as i am. of that i'm quite certain. But either due to a strength or depth of character that i can not access, do not possess altogether, love does not tinge or comandeer his writing as much as it does mine. his writing is simple and coherent, yet ladened with meaning and wordly wisdom. my words, inspired by not much beyond the realm of love, seem shallow, childish, and naiive in comparison. sometimes. just sometimes i wish i could focus my mind's eye beyond the visions that pluck my heart strings. sometimes i wish i could explore other aspects of life as in depth as i have explored love. sometimes i wish i could write. as he writes.

while plowing through Love in the Time of Cholera i happened upon an unexpected snag, a short passage, and rediscovered the imaginative delights of the written word.

"In the end they knew each other so well that by the time they had been married for thirty years they were like a single divided being, and they felt uncomfortable at the frequency with which they guessed each other's thoughts without intending to, or the ridiculous accident of one of them anticipating in public what the other was going to say. Together they had overcome the daily incomprehension, the instaneous hatred, the reciprocal nastiness and fabulous flashes of glory in the conjugal conspiracy. It was the time when they loved each other best, without hurry or excess, when both were most conscious of and grateful for their incredible victories over adversity. Life would still present them with other mortal trails, of course, but that no longer mattered: they were on the other shore."

*smile

 i wrote 5 different entries b4 this one. all long. all very descriptive. all trash. sometimes i juss ramble on. enchanted by the rhythmic tip-tapping of the keyboard and write much without saying much. this is all that needs to be said.

my love. 

genuine.

my lover.

faithful.

life.

possess the promise and clarity of rain-washed skies.