October 22, 2007

It’s been a month since I’ve seen Logan and so much has happened since then. He’s still in me, still in my heart, but I don’t cry for him anymore. I don’t hope for him anymore. In fact, I hope he never changes his mind, at least not for awhile. If he did, I’m not sure what I’d do at this point. I know I said a couple of days ago that I’d run right into his arms and never look back but that seems ages ago.

I’m slowly getting over him.

Jonathan.

He’s changed so much for me. I don’t have to beg him. I don’t have to cry. He’s here…he wants to be here…I want him to be here. We…us…we’re good together. He fills me with warm, tingly bubbles of pure joy. I’ve smiled more in the last week than in the last year.

Uncanny…fantastic…marvelous…

My Jonathan.

I needed him and he came.

Funny how life is like that…when you are at your lowest point someone reaches out and pulls you back up to standing.

I was crawling, begging, almost ready to lay down and die.

All over…done.

No more love.

What’s life without love?

Now, I see a reason to stand up again. I’m inspired, poetic, joyful.

He said to me last night, “I want to make your heart jump.”

“Ok.”

“This will be a little cryptic. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“It’s too early to say what I feel right now.”

Oh so not cryptic…so clear…so oh my!

Translation: “It’s too early to say [I love you but that's] what I feel right now.”

Read between the lines.

My heart jumped. Rushed blood to my brain. I felt dizzy. Dizzy and incredible! I wanted to throw my arms around him, hug him, kiss him. He was there and I was here. Apart, separate, longing. He’s poetry to me and I write. I write. We write. The story of us.

 

Bubbles

Bubbles

floating

finding their way

lazily

through my veins

popping

pouring

oozing

sticky bubbles

of joy

of something

of love?

You bubble up in me

pour into me

fill me

till my veins are overflowing

pulsing

throbbing

roaring.

I want to

flow into you.

Bubbles.

I’ve never been so inspired. My mind is a constant stream of thoughts, fragments, poems waiting to be written. My Jonathan, my muse.

Keep blowing bubbles my way…and come waste your time with me…

Just me…Marissa

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