The weekend is passing effectively. It’s somehow Sunday morning… I sufficiently cycled another 24 hours of crying and sleeping.
In my latest emergency call to David to cry about the luthier; he brought forward a new theory to my present state of disarray.
“I don’t think he realized…” Continue reading
Someone told me yesterday that they found my writing to be romantic. My reply was, “I think I’m more of a master of heartbreak…”
Maestro di crepacuore.
I honestly do believe, after my most recent heart slashing, I’m done.
Finnito. Continue reading
I’m about to bleed poetry.
I’ve had my apartment back to myself for two days since having company for three weeks; as my soul mate‘s family revealed health issues back in Italy, which means he’s out the door.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop crying at this point. But that’s ok, eyedrops help, and at least I’m discrete. Dipping into restrooms, trying to avoid houseguests.
Sto morendo. Continue reading
I’ve been limping over the luthier the past few days, and longing for Sperlonga.
The truth is, the love of my life and I didn’t fall out – life simply occurred. International issues with family do nothing for new found feelings. And so it ended, abruptly and instantly. Continue reading
It’s still surreal that I have had my heart destroyed to this degree, so recently. I’m glad that I have at least been able to entertain my three-week house guest.
I feel like, as a Poet, I’m allowed to be as boo-hoo as I feel like being today. I dare said that I haven’t taken a hit like this since my first husband.
And that was rough. Continue reading