The Lunatics {Malkavian}

Rhythms and Cycles.

-o0o-

Melancholy and blue I start thinking.

Have you ever found yourself thinking about your life and how sometimes
your stuck in some weird cycle?

I know I am.

Every year for the past three years I've spent a week or so with a close
friend.

It starts out as joke when we chat with each other in January. That I'd
come over and visit her. She tells me that our schedules are a mess and
that there's no way we could find common time to see each other. Talk dies
down and we both forget about it.

Sometime in February we talk about it again. And then it becomes possible.
She tells me to book my flight. Plan the trip. When can i come over. She
starts digging around for things to do, places to see. It all snowballs
together until I stop and realize that everythings been arranged already.

Everything gets planned out weeks before we actually meet each other.
Usually a month before. By the time she picks me up at the airport, our
tour tickets have been reserved. Citypasses have been obtained (Citypass
is available in major US cities and gives you access to major tourist
destinations). Bus passes, Subway passes. The works.

We get all excited about the whole prospect of spending time together. All
the weeks leading up to the actual days we meet are filled with chatter
about what we will do, places we'll see, dinners, lunches, breakfasts we
will be sharing.

The day of my arrival, in whatever city it was, I see her at the baggage
claim area. Waiting for me. Always giving me grief about travelling with
too many things. But I appease her that most of the stuff in the bag is
for her. We laugh, hug. We share a smile at seeing each other again.
Anticipation is in the air of future delights to be shared.

From the day I arrive we share every waking moment. She is the first thing
I see in the morning and the last I see at night. Her presence suffuses my
being. Her scent, the way her hair bounces, her smile, the small pout she
gives me when I act like a jerk.

Always we learn something new. About each other. About our lives. About
the places we visit and the things we do.

We share the delights of new experiences, the joy of discovery. We
criss-cross the city. Capture the memories in pictures. She knows me and
I know her. We share the same taste for food. We enjoy every meal as if it
were our last. We follow our rhythm, built up from years of knowing each
other. We merrily trod the streets, giddy, giggling.

We criss cross the city. And ask various strangers to please take our
pictures for us. Along the ways we hear various queries and comments.
"You're a cute couple", "you two look good together", "are you two
married". We smile and giggle as if sharing some naughty secret. We
neither confirm nor deny anything, leaving strangers thirsting for
knowledge.

The days are filled with only highs. The highs of new found things and of
basking in each other's presence. She stays in my room, confident that I
would not do anything to stain her honor. Part of me wants to hug her and
shower her with kisses but I quickly shunt it aside controlling my
emotions.

We lie in bed, just lie there. Thinking. Contemplating. The days have
run by so fast. We both realize that we have to go back. Back to our
daily routines, our "real" lives. Like criminals with sentences due we go
through our final day with a crazy fervor and passion.

We are wasted. Drunk. Puking in the streets. We dance the night away.
For tomorrow we go back, back to reality.

We sit quietly. in my bed. Quiet. I let her go. Not even an attempt to
kiss her or take her in my arms.

She says goodbye. Gives me a galnce, a look. I do not know what to make
of it. For we are parting again and there are still things left unsaid,
things undone.

Her scent lingers, unmistakeable, jasmine in the air.

I am alone in the room. Her last statement in my mind "Its time to go back
to reality Ronald"

I fall into restless slumber, her scent indelible in my mind. She is the
last thing I see before I sleep.

I wake up the next day to her voice. Gently raising me from the doldrums
of sleep. It is time to go. My flight back to Chicago is in two hours.

We say our goodbyes in two hours. We exchange promises of seeing each
other again. Until the next time. We don't know if there will still be a
next time.

We part, a final invitation thrown in "Maybe you should move somewhere near
me." I smile at her.

I board my plane. On my way to my regular routine. Back to our lives, our
regularly scheduled programs.

Until the cycle repeats itself.

Melancholy and blue.

(after San Fran 04302002 - Ronald L. Ramos)

-o0o-

Rachel's Song

Love, do you remember
My name? I was lost
In summer turned winter
Made bitter by frost.
And when June comes December
The heart pays the cost.

The breaking of waves on a long shore
In the grey morning the slow fall of rain,
And stone lies over.

You'll bury your sorrow
Deep in the sea
But sea tides aren't tamed
That easily -
There will come a tomorrow
When you weep for me.

The breaking of waves on a long shore
In the grey morning the slow fall of rain
Oh love remember, remember me.

(from Guy Gavriel Kay's The Summer Tree)