my careless contagion

It's time, I suppose. It's time to say goodbye. Okay, it's way beyond time to say goodbye. But it's always hard to put down something you've lovingly adored for so long. So it is with the girl I loved so strongly.  I'm sorry I haven't written much lately. I am sick. Too much stress. Not enough rest. Depression. The weather. But I'll be fine (unfortunately, and if I die, I go home). Just not today.  *** My cherie amour, lovely as a summer day My cherie amour, distant as the milky way My cherie amour, pretty little one that I adore You're the only girl my heart beats for How I wish that you were mine In a cafe or sometimes on a crowded street I've been near you, but you never noticed me My cherie amour, won't you tell me how could you ignore That behind that little smile I wore How I wish that you were mine Maybe someday, you'll see my face among the crowd Maybe someday, I'll share your little distant cloud Oh, cherie amour, pretty litt...

It's always windy in Wyoming. It's always something but me and her, which is all I ever thought I would need. The weather is like a woman, and like a specific woman. It's never the same, but it's always there, reminding you that you live in her world; she does not live in yours. Like the wind, she tore past you, went through you, left you alone, wondering and waiting and lost. The weather changes quickly, and so did she when she went right through you. But, unlike the weather, she changed you, humbled you, and made you hers. Like the weather, she reminds you that you are almost insignificant, and she can warm you or chill you to the bone, but it isn't because she cares or does not. Like the weather, she is what she is. You prepare for her. She doesn't even notice you. The wind does not want or need or even know you are there. It does what it does. You can't even see the wind, but you know it is there. I wait for her to shine on me again, just like the sun on...

To what or to whom can I liken her? A precious stone? A film star from a bygone era? How about a film star from a bygone era who was known for her love of precious stones? Perfect. Yes, that's what she is. She's perfect. But my analogy is imperfect. Marilyn was typecast as an airhead and easy. My girl is neither of those things. She is all class all the way and all the more inspiring. She's also unattainable. Whatever went through my head when I thought I could be with her — even though it was only for a brief moment — was madness. I may as well imagine myself with Marilyn Monroe. If she is Marilyn Monroe, then who am I? To whom should I liken myself? I am Jay Gatsby. But Jay Gatsby is fictional, whereas I am flesh and blood. Then I'm Joe DiMaggio. Okay, go ahead and laugh. I'm not a baseball legend. But I am in love with an unattainable woman, much like Joe DiMaggio was with Marilyn Monroe. He loved her long after their 9-month marriage ended. Yes, that...