note to a former beloved

Days that the wind is prickly with drizzle
and covetous of my hat and coat,
you rise in my memory:
climbing down the trail and crossing
the parking lot, kissing
on the porch, addicted to the way
the sun shines on snow in those three perfect
warm days in February--

then why do you only come to mind
when the cold wind blows lonely and jealous,
the streets shining damply, car wheels
whining through puddles?

Perhaps because I took the only thing I could from you
on a cold, windy day, the promise of snow
hanging above my head as I ran with blind eyes
and empty heart towards the confessional oak
taking my leave and running with it.

Back then, the measure of love
was the pain it caused when it ended;
and you were a cup brimming for me,
definite as a foot put down.

You were a high-water mark, the peak
of a swing I rode down after for years
afterwards, back when later
was not a time but a place, a distance,
a blue-barred bird perched on a fence,
caught in the single still languid moment:
your voice still ringing down after me,
your touch on me after all these years
only a cold breeze chilling my earlobe.

Days like this, when the wind dampens all my furnaces,
I think of you back then, perfect and shining,
and continue onward, braced against the wind
into the morning of all my tomorrows.

I have my passport, current tags for my car, and most of my Christmas shopping done. I also bought myself a couple of early Christmas presents (a glass butter dish and a picture of irises) that I'm not bothering to wrap.

I'm going to be doing a lot of wrapping presents tonight, though.

I dragged Chris to Ciao Bella last night on the strength of remembering that it was good the one time I'd been there. I was right! After lots of staggeringly good Italian food (I had a pasta dish with artichokes and mushrooms, he had chicken in a cream sauce) we went to my place and snuggled and talked and eventually fell asleep.

It was a good night, in more ways than one.

Chris and I are coming along, I think. Every time the relationship between us goes through some growth we get scared, I get depressed, we have Angst, and then we eventually kiss and make up and adjust to the new way things are. We've been doing this for almost ten years now; the first time it happened, we didn't speak to each other for about two years. We're getting better, now. This time, I only considered taking him off my livejournal friends link for about an hour before deciding that I wasn't *that* upset.

We drive each other nuts, we occasionally hurt each other's feelings, we occasionally piss each other's friends off--but we're always there for each other when push comes to shove.

I'm feeling a lot better about things in general this week. After the Drama of the last couple of weeks, this has been a good thing. A number of things happened at exactly the wrong time--changes in relationships, hormones, and just a little bit of being taken for granted--and everything kind of blew up on my face.

I'm better now, having finally figured out that I *can* rein in these rampaging emotions, and go my own way and do my own thing. So this Friday, I'm going to a company holiday party and then to the Spot. We'll see how good a time I have.

If nothing else, I can end up at 13 Coins at 3 am, reading a book and promising myself i'll go home and go to bed sometime soon. That actually sounds like a lot of fun.

I'm gutting /idat.

It's needed to be done for ages now, because it makes no sense to have a whole section of doomcookie dedicated to content that, more and more, lives either in the journal directory or elsewhere on doomcookie. The reasdon I hadn't trashed it is because I'm goddamned sentimental about the design. That main page is beautiful. I don't really know why, but every time I look at it, I'm pleased with it. When I first designed it years ago, it balanced a unique design with a very low bandwidth usage. It's monochromatic and lovely, and it's mine.

But the time comes when all good Web pages must admit that they've outlived their usefulness, alas. So I'm creating a section off of Doomcookie proper for odds and ends, folding the bio information into the journal, and simply trashing some of it.

The end of an era.

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