Over the last two years, I've written a lot. In all the time I've written, I don't think I've ever been moved to truly wax poetic in a romantic sense. Sure, I've had quite the few "darlings" in my posts that Doc T taught me how to love, to use, and to sadly kill just last spring; and for all those darlings that had to be killed, I feel sad that they've been tossed out, unwanted and unloved when their existence could have inspired someone else for a brief, fleeting moment.
For those of you who weren't here when I learned about "darlings," they are beautiful phrases, "like a lifetime of beautiful spring Tuesdays" that really speak volumes but more often than not are usually extraneous or not useful when trying to prove a succinct point. Darlings are the poetic leanings of the psyche that long to be expressed; they are the eloquent, charming phrases that are sadly discarded for the sake of brevity.
For all of the sacrificed and discarded darlings that we've all at one time thrown away for the sake of brevity, I'm going to do something that only the narcotic buzz of infatuation can inspire us to do, take time to reincarnate them for one sweet moment in time.
It's a beautiful spring night in the desert. My patio door is open, letting in the sweet smelling air. The breeze washing through the room has a bit of a chill, but not so much that I feel the need to close the door or give myself over to the warm comforts of the red polka-dotted throw on my overstuffed brown leather sofa. It's just one of those beautiful evenings after a beautiful day that I want to bottle and keep close to my heart as one of the spectacular days that cleanses the soul and washes away cares like a warm, gently cascading waterfall or a breath of soul-cleansing air.
Walking out onto my balcony, my red chair invites me to sit a while, look at the stars that seem a little bit brighter tonight, with constellations begging to be found and their stories remembered. How often do we look up and wish that we could dip our hand into the star-filled sky and scoop up the stars like shimmering water in a cool pond?
I take a deep breath and let it out, felling a little bit more relaxed than I have in a while. My troubles seem a bit more distant as ambient music wafts through the open door, mingling gently with the sweet spring breeze, coaxing my muscles to give up yet one more knot.
I sit quietly and smile to myself, enjoying the moment, imagining the beautiful face of a person who appreciates me for who I am, who has read my words with a tender sincerity, seeing me as a person of endless curiosity and a never-ending source of love. As Billie Meyer's "Kiss the Rain" starts playing, I laugh to myself while looking at the stars, mentally singing along with the song, "We're under the same sky, and the night is as empty as for me as for you." But really, it's not lonely, it's longing to see his smile not fade too quickly, to hear laughter that sounds like a soft, deep, rich thunder, the sweet sound of his voice speaking to me and laughing at my quirky sense of what life is like, and finding a small bit of my nutritional value reflected back at me in his eyes.
Ah, but that is the nature of the darling isn't it? It says so much, oft incoherent to all of the wonderful people who read them and wonder what on earth could have possessed someone to just write about 15 minutes of their life in a way that freezes the moment in time, putting them right in the middle of the moment, allowing them to revel in just a moment of peace.
I wish all days could be like today, like an endless supply of beautiful spring Tuesdays where I'm told I'm gorgeous, have success at whatever endeavor I undertake and for once enjoy that I have an addictive personality hooked on the overload of endorphins that can only be found when you meet someone new.
Thank goodness there are nights like tonight. Long live the darlings.