Dear Pained One

Did he say what you thought he said or was it a fireworks display dreamed? Your therapist said, from the weather report, the sky was overcast slate. Maybe those looks he tossed were practice casts he hoped, later, to land the big one with. Not that you weren't lovable or deserving. Attraction is the sum of the brain, the eyes, body chemistry. We know, but can't explain. How many times I asked only to hear my echos die down noir hallways.

Why do you drop your line into a pool of memory where voices drowned decades ago? What good comes watching your face ripple in silver turbulence, knowing nothing of life below the surface? Are you the widow each Saturday at graveside waiting the return of Lazarus? The dead don't care. They visit old ball fields relishing Vin Scully's voice, rest in contentment of an eternal doubleheader. You are the only restless one. Have you thought about going to a movie or joining a bird watching society? Do people still do that?

He walks in his Elysian Field on the outer rings of Saturn. You enter that Dimension. You see him. He sees you. You rush into each others arms, embrace, kiss. "Here's looking at you, kid."

Pained One, you never had Paris. It's time to make new friends.