RAYMUND FERNANDEZ
We yield always to mechanics, inertia, momentum, the angular velocities of moving bodies, the laws of Physics.
We might write our lives like fiction. But reality is what it is.
Love is funny.
I guess.
Quite as funny as life itself.
And why should we dwell on this at this time?
It might be the turn of the weather, or if you will, the turn of the seasons.
That inside what might only be a brief lull between work, I find myself finally able to breathe deeply and “chill,” as the kids now put it. I chill even as I wonder if love and life have treated me well.
I find people beautiful.
Still as ever, each one a mystery inviting me to enter.
And I suppose the need to get to know people better is something of a universal urge.
And I think it nice that I still feel this urge.
As singer-composer Paul Simon put it, “She was beautiful as Southern skies the night I met her…”
And indeed, she is beautiful.
And her too.
And her too.
And then another her, another him? – going into forever, I suppose.
This is only a dream.
So much beauty all around it would take more than one lifetime to explore all.
And it would be complicating.
And now is not a good time for complications for me who longs only for a day in a lonely beach somewhere where there is a nice easy chair under a shade, a cup of coffee, and a book.
Somewhere I can forget I am working too hard and liking it.
Pleasant company would be nice, I imagine.
My wife, when she is resting from work.
But anyone else if she is too busy.
I imagine she would be as good looking and equally as bright.
Our conversations would be nice.
But not so nice as to require hard work.
A bit of “parallel play” is absolutely acceptable.
“And she reads her Emily Dickinson, And I my Robert Frost…”
Again, Paul Simon.
Why does he stray into my dreams this way?
And then, she might ask, “Does sex always complicate matters?”
“Does it do so for you?”
“Why?”
And then I reply, “Oh, I don’t know.”
“It always does for me.”
“Always.”
But perhaps, it is not the sex as much as the love.
The sex is short and easy.
But love is quite another thing, like honor, honesty, commitment, the urge to take care of each other, the urge to keep the dream going till forever even when we know it is only a dream unfolding away from wakefulness by only razor’s edge.
Thence to regret, even despair.
And forever is such an a long time.
But can it go another way?
Does it always end like that?
Love and life are a set or inevitable conditions.
We yield always to mechanics, inertia, momentum, the angular velocities of moving bodies, the laws of Physics.
We might write our lives like fiction.
But reality is what it is.
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