Tag Archives: unrequited love

The Wine Glass.

The wine glass sat on the countertop

White wine bottle beside

Each half full like a theater prop

Waiting for groom and bride.

But no one there took sup of the cup

A thief was due at dawn

Neither bride nor groom were in the room

Now the bottle, and the glass

Are gone.

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© 6/6/2020 Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, whose name appears above this line. Thank you for respecting original material.

littlebarefeetblog.com

Letter to The Love Of My Life.

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Dearest Love,
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Remember when we met?
I was alone, inside my head.
You appeared. And, you were beautiful.
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Both smoothe and firm, your face was perfect. Your eyes, twinkling, deep and introspective. Your mouth soft, and fleshy. Your hands, quiet, self possessed, silently speaking only to me. Your body strong. Your voice clear, and resonant. Your smile, slow, and real.
I loved you, instantly.
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You, in all your manifestations. Sometimes you embodied those I came to know. They channeled you well, a few better than others. You came to me, so many times, across so many paths, in so many ways, sometimes suddenly, at others gradually, taking me by surprise thereafter.
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I loved you, as God loves his own creation. My object d’arte, you were ever mine to adore. Endless latitude I gave you, always believing in you, ever hopeful of your capacity to accept my love.
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If ever you are lost, there is a home for you in me. To me, you can come always — your staunchest defender, your honor, your solace, your devotion.
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You are not alone. I know you.
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You live in my heart.
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What is your name?
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© 5/2/19  Ruth Ann Scanzillo.  This is original, personal material. Be a good person. Leave it alone. Thank you.
littlebarefeetblog.com

Bearing All.

In the darkest part of my night, and her day, my dearest bloggie, N, gave me a sobering piece of advice. And, it was this:

“You don’t have to bare your soul to the entire planet.”

Now, because her depth of insight is consistently eons ahead of my most emboldened presumptions, I paused. She always gives me pause. There is a certain, goddess fearing pause that this woman generates; it’s as if she knows me, before I know myself. And, she, relative to my chronology, a veritable child, no less.

“You don’t have to.”

I suppose my first reaction was to that opening clause. “Have to”? Hadn’t I moved, yea grown, so far beyond any notion of obeying anything or anybody?

Surely a childhood of strictly enforced social parameters had taught me that obedience was better than sacrifice. And, sacrifice had been my mother’s middle name.

Yet, I knew, by early adulthood (though I would not act on the realization for another decade) that I could not obey anymore. I’d done it, to an excruciating degree, though mum would be the last to know. First, I would dissect my imposed authorities with the official tonsorial artist’s finest comb. Then, and only then, would I take with any degree of sobriety the directives of said alleged enforcers. Playwrite Neil Simon’s Reader’s Digest quote, decoupaged to a small plaque which I’d subsequently placed on the toilet table, to be read like a mantra every day, was my leading instructor:

” There will be those who say: ‘It’s not done that way.’  Maybe it’s not, but maybe you will….”

Yes; I would obey only the inner voice with which I had been blessed, and that, to a fault.

So, my dearest and most revered bloggie N, perhaps I cannot do anything else. Perhaps my soul is already escaped its body. Perhaps my head already floats in the firmament, like Woody Allen’s mother in ‘New York Stories’, monitoring the lives of everybody around me and barking fair warning. Keyword: fair. Perhaps all my social and emotional errors are worthy fodder for the fledglings.

The Apostle Paul exhorted the early Christians to “bear one another’s burdens.” Perhaps I simply cannot bear my own soul. Maybe, subconsciously, I plead for others to help me carry it?

And, what of it?  Could my missteps, my errant wanderings, be of worth to those who have yet to embark? Who is judging my choices, anymore? Certainly, I have judged them myself – and, found them seriously wanting.

Best to warn, like the town crier. Let me do the crying. I can handle it. Tough love is not easy, and rarely wins friends, but somebody has to do it. Might as well be me. Long after I am forgotten, perhaps my life experiences will be filed and referenced for some small value to another.

Further, in his letter to the Corinthians, Paul also includes in his legendary “love chapter”: “Love…..bears all….”

And so, my love comes with me. I hope to spread such care. If this is not how my words translate, then, please: do tell. Perception is, after all, our only reality – and, it may be all we ever get before we cross the bar.

Much ❤ , to all, most specially to my dearest N.

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This piece dedicated to Nicole –  SABISCUIT, to the WordPress world.

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo

9/1/15 – All rights those of the one who just stripped nekked. Thanks for not snickering.

littlebarefeetblog.com