The Gift That Keeps On Giving

I promise I won't ever let it go eight months again.

Because I can’t be with you this Christmas
There’s a place in my heart that’s alone
With the kids in their beds, by the light of the tree
There’s a gift all your own each year you give to me

The gift of your love makes me happy
The gift of your love makes me smile
Though I miss until it seems my heart will die,
It’s your love that turns longing to something worthwhile.

The gift of your love makes my heart sing
Like a chorus of angels above.
When I give all my thanks for my blessings received,
I give thanks most of all for your love.

It’s the gift that only I can see
No wrapping, no bow, and without a name
And when you look in the light of your own Christmas tree,
In the dark and the silence there, you’ll find the same…

The gift of your love makes me happy
The gift of your love makes me smile
Though I miss until it seems my heart will die,
It’s your love that turns longing to something worthwhile.

The gift of your love makes my heart sing
Like a chorus of angels above.
When I give all my thanks for my blessings received,
I give thanks most of all for your love.

Merry Christmas. I love you.

Random Thoughts...

I feel like I know your thoughts most of the time.

I know the demands on your time.

I know when you're tired and when you're ready to go.

I know when you need me, and when you need time away.

Most of the time.

Sometimes, though, the radio goes silent.

Maybe because of you.

Maybe because of me.

Maybe for no "reason".

And then I think...

I wonder...

What's she doing?

What's she thinking?

What's she feeling?

And I wonder because...

I like to think of you being...

Happy...

Content...

Loved.

So I think about you...

And that takes care of number three.

An Apt Description....

Love Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Because of Radio Silence...

Did I mention how beautiful you look today?

And how amazed I am at the way you pull it off so effortlessly?

Each time you speak to me...

Each time you look at me...

Each time I'm in the vicinity of you...

I feel your love...and I love you back.

You're beautiful, inside and out.

You're irresistible...and you're so easy to love.

Just a thought....

Because We Need More Weekends...

When You are Old
by W. B. Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Intermission

Sometimes, the movie contains so much passion, so much drama, so much emotional investment...

That a break is required.

Maybe it's not a break we want.

Maybe it's not even a break we need.

Rather, it's a break to realign our eyes, our hearts, our minds.

It makes appreciate things in a new way.

It makes us see both the forest AND the trees.

It gives us time to go to the bathroom, get more popcorn and a fresh drink, and stretch our legs.

It prepares us for what's to come.

And it heightens anticipation. Appreciation. Love.

I can't wait for the next act to begin.

Today's Whitman, Vol. 2

Again, from Leaves of Grass,

O YOU WHOM I OFTEN AND SILENTLY COME

O you whom I often and silently come where you are that I may be with you, As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is
playing within me.

Today's Whitman, Post 1

From Leaves of Grass:

AMONG THE MULTITUDE

Among the men and women the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, husband, brother, child,
any nearer than I am,
Some are baffled, but that one is not--that one knows me.

Ah lover and perfect equal,
I meant that you should discover me so by faint indirections, And I when I meet you mean to discover you by the like in you.

I Shall Not Be Moved

Shaken by the powers that be
To make me bend and fail
My love for you will still prevail
And I shall not be moved.

My heart beats out a tempo loud
I feel my pulse begin to race
Because of those who'd spoil our place
But I shall not be moved.

They operate in fits and starts
With madness, anger, fear and dread,
But us, we choose to love instead,
So I shall not be moved.

So let them strike and cut and swear
Attempt to ruin a love that's pure
Because that passion will endure.

No.

I shall not be moved.