Tag Archives: love

Memory of love

From prison blog   aug 4 2010

… I was lying up thinking, abstractedly now, about Love.

There are people who you love forever, I know.  People for whom the love you feel, no matter how much time passes, will always equal your whole capacity for love.  I’ve known this since I first loved a girl and had to leave her (at 17, for college).  Love can’t end or even diminish just because people part ways.

I have always known that.  Then again, I have always been young and never wise.  Perhaps it doesn’t matter that I have a handful of exes whom I can’t get over.

More recently (years already?  It feels like yesterday) I left someone else, and did a poor job of it, telling her as I walked away that our love was forever.  This someone told me No.  She said that life goes on, and life would draw us apart, and that without the daily things, the body in the room, the dancing, the fucking, the cooking and eating, the voice saying something new, without those things it would slowly become the case that we used to be in love.  Or perhaps she didn’t say all that.  But she said, “Please cling to me, for there are no do-overs, and what passes is past.”

And so, I’m wondering if I might have been wrong and she right.  Is all that love I seem to feel still love, after all?

Perhaps I have been misled all this time by a quirk of my particular memory?  It seems that my memory for emotions is very strong, where my memory for the details of my own autobiography is  faded lace.  Old hurts and humiliations, old joy and old love, seem to grip me.  But other types of experience I recall with difficulty.  Have I mistaken memories of love for a continuing experience?  And is a vivid memory of a feeling different, in fact, than the feeling in its creative, vital moment?

I see now that she was right, at least about this:  There are no do-overs.  What passes is past.  And life begins to feel very short.

I might ask Why every night and never get past Because.  I hear my own voice saying that one one word.  “Because.”  And I freeze, intent, focused on the next word, which never comes.  I wish I had understood you when you explained it.  Love,


She ties up my thoughts.  I am tongue-tied.  My heart, tied as well, by its strings like vines, to memories as precious and as heavy as gold.

I feel a terrible sense of lack.  Of emptiness and desire.  I miss.  I feel regret.  Painful, bitter regret and disappointment.  I have always had difficulty believing that there are no do-overs in real life.  If I live to be a hundred, I fear I will always feel cheated.

To have had love and thrown it away – the mistake of a lifetime.

Saying this, after all this time, maybe it’s a raggedy-assed kind of acceptance.



It’s on my brain.

I haven’t had enough of it for a long time now.

(There are worse things than celibacy in prison, but I was fortunate.)

I’m a sexual type of person.  And it’s two o’clock in the morning.  And I want a lover.

The thing of it is, though, that I don’t want just anybody.

Someone said to me recently, “I just want to fuck someone who I actually want to spend time with.”

I’m with that.  Trawling Craigslist for casual sex doesn’t appeal to me at all, no matter how horny I am.

I want to fall in love again.

But.  but.  I can’t.  Not now.  Not love.

I couldn’t if I would.  I wouldn’t if I could.

Oh!  What’s a lonely boy to do?