Namaste blah-g tribe

Yesterday was one of the best days of my life. I don’t really say that often, good days, maybe – best days? Not so much.

My best day involved a 24-hour stint with the apparent love of my life; wandering around Manhattan, feeding each other dark chocolate, watching hours pass from park benches and swapping secrets in international ways.

My favorite part of the day was in my midtown abode, roped in braids of sweat, being serenaded in Italian. That was without a doubt one of my ultimate, “Holy shit, is this actually my life?” moments.

It’s not that I wasn’t aware that¬†I’ve been miserable for a couple of years now. The pool of lovers around has been a strategic distraction when I needed it. But now, I’m back at a place I thought I reached in 2002, much younger, with a naive ¬†Australian who certainly won me over for a minute. Although these days, it’s painfully clear that the damage he brought me far outweighed the good.

I love that my heart rules me. Even when whoever is around me has said that I should be good alone; that everyone cops heartbreak; or that I’m lucky to have the independence I’ve worked for.

I guess there’s some truth in the satisfaction of taking care of myself. Paying rent, doing what I love to do, has been tremendously rewarding. Not as rewarding as falling in love though – in effortless, fate-filled love with someone who is completely different from anyone else I’ve ever met.

As my life has it, the luthier is leaving me for Italy soon. He’ll be gone for a month. I can’t even imagine the poetry. I don’t really want to right now.

Instead, I’m listening to this… on repeat…