loving the ones we lose

Post by **mccutcheon** » Sat Oct 13, 2001 9:03 am

Some people live too long. Some people live too short. It's a feeling you get deep in your heart when you lose a loved one. After Tara died I went to a bar in gray Calgary with Stuart and there were these fat drunk red necks playing pool and they didn't have anything to say. i saw no worth in them. I thought of tara who had so much talent and was reaching new hieghts in art and music and I wanted them dead, for them to switch places. My love had turned me into a hater. it's a feeling I still won't take back. it's in me to stay. It pushes me not to give in. now I wonder if I have the talent to live much longer. I'm in bed and listening to music. Some of the people who have made this music are dead, some still alive. I love their work. I look in the mirror and like what I see. I'm simple that way. I just need more talent. It was Tara's b-day Sunday Oct. 5th. I'm only able to write about it now for many reasons. I think of you Tara. I love you Tara. This helps me. A girl told me recently we all have our sad stories. Yes we do. love is what we need but Love is Santa, love is the Easter Bunny, love is the tooth fairy, love is you and me and everyone. People cry for Sept 11th for people they never knew, they pull out flags for a country they don't understand. I think of you. And don't care if my feelings are wrong or not. I've never been social and accurate. time to dream.

sarah · Post by **sarah** » Sat Oct 13, 2001 10:10 am

I'm never going to reach Maslow's highest level on the heirarchy of needs because that love is not personal, and isn't it really a lot easier to love a lot of faces you don't know (the country) than the ones whose imperfections you do. Love is not Santa unless you choose it to be. Love,for me, is a choice.

sarah · Post by **sarah** » Sat Oct 13, 2001 10:46 am

I Tried To Leave You
I tried to leave you, I don't deny
I closed the book on us, at least a hundred times.
I'd wake up every morning by your side.
The years go by, you lose your pride.
The baby's crying, so you do not go outside,
and all your work it's right before your eyes.

Goodnight, my darling, I hope you're satisfied,
the bed is kind of narrow, but my arms are open wide.
And here's a man still working for your smile.
--Leonard Cohen
A good love song? It works for me.

Amber Dice · Post by **Amber Dice** » Wed Nov 28, 2001 5:49 am

It's been 7 weeks since my love died. It sucks being the one left behind, that's for sure. How many weeks will it take to not know how many weeks it's been? People say be grateful you had that love, some people go through their whole lives without loving like that. Well that's their fucking problem! I can't help it they're so scared of their own passion they won't leave their house or their car. They tell me I'm lucky. But my soulmate is dead, and that doesn't feel lucky to me. I resent the people who get to live too. People who make no contribution, who offer no magic or secrets of the earth and sky and living. Sheep.
I want to be graceful, I want to "light a candle and continue the dance" as Alan Ginsburg said. But I feel so alone and angry and ripped off. He was such an amazing person, we made such a good partnership. I am utterly bereft and taking a home crash course in astral projection. I can feel him, but it's not enough--I want more. I want to ask him some questions about some love letters I found cleaning out his stuff from Rebecca (before my time) but never discussed during our time together. Not because I'm jealous, but because she was a part of him and I naively thought I knew all those things. Just a simple question, "tell me about Rebecca, Bradley." What was that about? And it is bizarre the finality of not knowing EVER answers from someone I was completely intimate with just 8 short weeks ago. Or, when did you buy your hang glider, again? How many miles did you fly on it before you got sick? These are things people want to know if I'm going to sell it--but the only one who can answer the questions is DEAD! Sorry folks, I won't be gettin' back to you on that one. But more than anything, I just want to touch his face. But what's left of his face is with what's left of the rest of his body. Petrified wood in a cookie can. That's how I got him back from the funeral home. It a gold cookie tin, with his name on a label on the lid. It could just as easily be peanut butter blossoms in there and no one would be any the wiser--till they opened it up. He looks more like a Mt. St. Helen's souvenir than any christmas cookies I ever ate. Oh well, I'm going on. I miss him. "Miss" is such a lame word to describe the misery. I will never love again like that. It's probably true, I should be grateful.