Archive for the love Category


Posted in love, musings, poetry, reminisce, writing on November 21, 2017 by kimmy

What would I say if I saw you again?
Could I even bear to look upon my actions
Without pleading with Time
For a chance to alter what I set in motion
So many years ago.
That Time might relent and open its arms,
Permitting me to change the dial
To point in an unfamiliar direction,
A route driven by desire
And not fear of an unknown fate.
Would He be so generous
As to allow me to shuffle what has passed
And deal myself another hand,
One that won’t leave me bankrupt,
But rich with the fulfillment of a wish
That I once nurtured like a seedling
Yet somehow neglected to water.
Or would He deny me that chance
Knowing full well that to return to the past
Requires amnesia of future events
And loss of its hard-won wisdom.
For I cannot go back and alter my words;
I can only meet you here and now
And speak them as they have always been:
Unvarnished and raw
But finally freed from the ligature
Of self-imposed doubt.
For it wasn’t you that I feared so long ago,
Only myself
And the yawning expanse of emotion
That I could neither face nor name.



Posted in flash fiction, love, social commentary, writing with tags , , , , , , , on June 15, 2010 by kimmy

“You probably won’t believe me, but I loved a man once,” she said, taking a delicate sip of coffee.  She held the cup thoughtfully for a moment before replacing it on the table.  “A ne’er-do-well with hypnotic eyes and a poetic soul.”

“Aren’t they all?”  Disinterest was harder to affect than I thought.

“Poetic?  No.  It’s a rare man who gives himself to art,” she said with a sad smile.  “The price is too high.”

I listened, trying to appear nonchalant.  The truth was she talked so infrequently about her personal life that curiosity was getting the best of me.  I felt like a gaper. 

“Uh… price?”  What could be more glorious than sacrificing one’s self on the altar of creative expression?

“It’s a jealous mistress, you know,” she said with a nod.  “Doesn’t leave much for a real one.”

“I guess you’re speaking from experience,” I said, stating the obvious.  Suddenly I felt a stab of panic.  Would she take offense and clam up? 

“Yes,” she said, looking me straight in the eye. “It was hard-won.”

Green eyes.  I had assumed they were blue.  But then again, they were usually shaded by dark lenses.  “What happened to him?” I asked, hoping she’d turn down the high beams and stare off into the distance again.

She didn’t.  “He pursued me relentlessly,” she answered, boring two holes into my brain.   “And then one day, quite abruptly, he disappeared forever.”

I slid to the edge of my chair, half-expecting the story to take a mysterious turn.  There were so many odd rumors circulating about her that if he had actually dematerialized, I wouldn’t have been surprised.   “He left town?”

The question seemed to surprise her.  “No, he’s still here,” she said quietly, ” in the same house he’s lived in for years.”

I felt a little disappointed.  Maybe this was no strange abduction tale after all.  “But you said he was gone.”

She smiled serenely.  “He is gone.”

I wasn’t accustomed to being stymied.  “But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Love seldom makes sense,” she laughed.  “It will take you beyond yourself.  Whether you can maintain the expansion is the challenge.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t.”

She shook her head.  “No, he didn’t, but I’m content to have it so.”

I thought perhaps she really did merit those odd rumors.  “Most people might grieve instead.”

“Most would rather mourn all experience than celebrate it,” she said, leaning forward.

“Loss of love doesn’t inspire celebration,” I said, thinking about my own brushes with it.

“Then you’ve missed the whole point,” she said slowly.  “Love isn’t ours to possess, but only to give away.  Be happy that it bit you at all.”


Posted in love, musings, writing with tags , , , , , , on March 10, 2010 by kimmy

When people fall in love, they usually overlook the serious mechanisms that actually drive a successful relationship.  They are so intoxicated by emotion that they presume their beloved has the same values and goals in life.  It’s only after the rush subsides that they realize the mistake.

Some couples try to tough it out.  They’ve already given their pledge before God, family and friends, so they rarely wish to suffer the humiliation of public defeat.  They stumble onward, rarely in sync, and grow to dislike each other considerably.  Of course they’re secretly angry with themselves, but it’s much easier to blame the other party for the oversight.  Instead of facing the issue of incompatibility, they ignore the entire matter, leaving everyone else to ponder the 800 pound gorilla in the room.

Most couples live with a similar beast of their own so they accept it.  It’s expected that one will fall out of love and settle into a twilight of resignation, relieved only when company calls and they’re forced to put on a show.  Since everyone is engaging in the same mummery, there are few models that are divergent.  They are shunned, of course, because to reject the pattern of one’s upbringing is to reject family altogether.  Not a happy prospect, especially if one is itching to discover more.  Invariably, family and friends will circle the wagons and pressure the rebel to give up his silly ideas.

Why are we so vested in maintaining this illusion?  Will the world come to a screeching halt if we reevaluate and go our separate ways?  Whatever happened to unconditional love?  It’s interesting that love is trotted out only when arguing for maintainence of the old dynamic.   If you really loved me, you’d shut your mouth and put up with my unreasonable behavior.  Is that what love has become, an endurance test where we indulge in the worst of ourselves and demand our mates enjoy it?

Have we bought into this paradigm so completely that we cannot envision anything else?  What about courtesy, kindness, common principles and dreams?  Sadly these factors are rarely addressed even though they are the glue which binds happy relationships.  If these concepts are not openly discussed before two people join together, what hope do they have of success?

Perhaps instead of stumbling into love, we should approach it more respectfully with full knowledge of what it needs to survive.  Bring all those things, whims and requirements to the bargaining table and hammer out an agreement which serves the majority of them.  It may seem unromantic, but conflicts up the road are seldom resolved with moonlight.  Dim light and butterflies usually conceal more than they reveal, a dirty little trick Nature plays to ensure its will be carried out.

We don’t need those harsh discussions; our love will stand the test of time.  Probably.  But your relationship won’t.  If an accord isn’t reached while the flame is burning brightest, what’s the likelihood it will be struck when it’s extinguished?


Posted in love, musings, social commentary, writing with tags , , , , , , on November 25, 2009 by kimmy

You think you can keep it secret.  You can shove it into the darkest recesses of your mind and pretend you don’t care.  You can feign indifference and try to look away.  Maybe you’ve even tried to force yourself to accept the dreariness of your lot.

But it won’t last.  If you think you can outwit the inevitable, you’re mistaken.  Eventually, you’ll have to own the turmoil that rocks you and realize that it’s only its refusal that troubles you.

So what do you do when the love you’ve sought all your life comes to call?  Throw yourself on its mercy and pray it will overlook your foibles?  Keep it waiting at the door because you’re inconvenienced?   Curse the day you picked up your first romance novel?

The real question here is why do you insist upon playing the innocent?  Are you completely oblivious to the creative role you play in your own life?  It’s a mystery why people are astonished when the thing they most desire arrives on their doorstep.  Perhaps what they truly want is not the outcome itself, but the yearning.

Maybe it’s easier to secretly anticipate failure.  In that way, one isn’t challenged to own personal power or to deal with the gritty reality of sharing intimate space with another person.  My friend Daniel, a glib but oddly reserved man, recently started dating a woman whom he described as ideal.  When I spoke to him last week, he told me that he had abruptly ended their acquaintance because it was too good.  It was only after a stulted conversation that I realized that it was not the lady to whom he objected, but to the tsunami of emotion triggered by her arrival.

We have somehow learned to equate love with the magical elimination of all problems.  And in essence, we are right; love will correct all errors, but that process is never easy.  Love is relentless.  It will shed its harshest light on your sickest secrets and force them into the open, where they may be addressed and neutralized.

You cannot take a seat at the banquet if you are already filled beyond capacity with fear.  Will you let love transform you, taking you far beyond the limitations of your finite mind, or will you settle for the scraps that fall from the grown-ups’ table?


Posted in fiction, love, romance, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 14, 2009 by kimmy

…is when you lie beside me and I can forget myself for a few hours.  I don’t want to think about all the tasks that await me, or the insurmountable obstacles that ring you like a barricade.  Instead, I want to dissolve, losing all sense of myself in a kiss that goes on for days.  Can I reach the very bottom of it or will it wind languidly on a never-ending trip, leading me to parts unknown but still strangely familiar?

It doesn’t matter because I will board that train and take it to the end of the line.  The uncertainty of the future doesn’t frighten me nearly as much as the possibility that it could be lost and never realized.  Why should I fret about the inconsequentials?  They shall be swept away, for I have seen what lies beyond and nothing save self-doubt can sabotage it.

What an exquiste surprise this journey has become.  I’m captivated by the beauty and complexity of its design, and thrilled that I no longer have to take the helm.  I only have to acknowledge that I’ve been chosen and then to participate wholeheartedly.

Is it the joining of you to me that is the end, or is it representative of my missing pieces coming together in joyful reunion?  It has been said that love cannot manifest between two if it does not first exist independently within each one.   If this is true, then my happiness is magnified a hundredfold for I know with absolute certainty that no matter the outcome, I shall be upheld.


Posted in love, musings, relationships, social commentary, writing with tags , , , , , , on August 19, 2009 by kimmy

You know who I mean.  She always enters a room fully expecting to be feted.  She routinely inspects her appearance discreetly in every reflective surface, but takes no pains to conceal her contempt of others.  She’s always flipping her hair and gauging reaction from the corner of her eye.  God forbid another attractive woman occupy the same radius!

No one commands the petulant quite like her.  If a stamp of her (exceptionally well-shod) foot doesn’t snap you to attention, she’s always ready with a barb designed to shrivel your manhood.  If she launches it in public, so much the better.  Nothing smacks of true love more than humiliation.

If you can’t satisfy her every demand, be certain that a queue of the willing are just behind.  You are only a means to end, but you don’t really mind, do you?  It’s a small price to pay. 

The appeal is irresistable.  For every man decrying the dwindling numbers of respectable, date-worthy women, there are two fighting for favor of the bitchy ones.  Who wants a loving woman to keep the home fire burning, when a dismissive tempermental one is ready to burn it down?

Not that her temper assures you of any heat in the bedroom.  More often than not, she’s a cold fish… but damn!  Doesn’t she look bodacious in that Victoria’s Secret thong?  Maybe you’re not getting laid, but all your buddies will think you are.

It’s all a matter of appearance, not substance.  But who cares about substance?  Better to be the envy, not the pity, of the boys down at the Legion.  They can have their pick of the wallflowers… you’re going home with Miss September.


Posted in love, men, relationships, women, writing with tags , , , , , on May 12, 2009 by kimmy

It was nearly three months since I last talked to Diane.  At the time, she was nearly giddy, just having met the man of her dreams on e-Harmony and spending every available moment on Skype.  She fell in love, and off the radar, into what I hoped was well-deserved domestic bliss.

So imagine my surprise when she called me on Sunday, interrupting my otherwise placid Mother’s Day luncheon with sobs and an urgent plea for advice.  Through her tears, she explained that Prince Charming had scuttled the new-formed relationship before taking it out to sea.

“He refuses to meet me,” she wept. 

“Uh, he refuses to greet you?”  It was a little hard to understand Diane when she was in the middle of a crying jag.

“No!  Kimmy, he won’t even meet me for coffee!”

I admit I was a little puzzled.  Had they had a lovers’ quarrel and the Prince refused to kiss and make up?  Apparently not, I soon learned as she hastily brought me up to speed.  It seemed that despite their torrid exchanges via webcam, they hadn’t actually met in person.

“He says I live too far away.”

It made perfect sense to me.  Why else would they lurk on Skype?  Romance is difficult enough without the challenge of distance.   

I tried to remind her of this as she bemoaned her fate.  “Didi, you can’t exactly meet at Starbucks if you live in New York and he’s in L.A.”

There was long pause.  “Kimmy, he lives only 20 miles from me.”

Oh, one of those predicaments.  I didn’t know what to say to her; it seems that even the most desirable women are not immune to the scourge of poor location.  Of what value are charm, grace and accomplishment if the lady at issue is not conveniently located?  It’s not enough that we must be attractive, fit, solvent, employed and sexually adventurous.  If we’re not within easy reach, we don’t merit the effort.

It’s a bitter thing for a woman to hear.  Nobody wants to be judged unworthy.  But esteem issues beg the real question here:  Just how lazy have men become anyway?

I remember one such fellow years ago.  After a few preliminary dates, he announced in a rather self-satisfied way that he was pleased with me.  Not because I was an interesting female, but that my apartment was conveniently situated between his home and place of work.  “Now, I don’t have to go out of my way to see you,” he said blithely.  Needless to say, that acquaintance ended badly.  If a man is determined to torpedo a budding or established relationship, all he need do is mention his partner’s lack of specialness.  The world is full of unremarkable people; to be lumped in among them is the kiss of death.

It was little comfort to Diane, who insisted that her life was over.  “This is worse than high school when my boyfriend dumped me for the head cheerleader,” she mourned.  “Her locker was right next to his.”

I agreed that his behavior showed an absence of vision, but cautioned her.  “Maybe he’s just not that enamored of you, Didi.  If he was, wouldn’t he move heaven and hell just to be with you?”

“Yeah, I guess he would,” she snuffled, “but only if hell was next door.”