Meteor Love

I want to look him in the eye now, and say to him, or shout so he listens, so he hears, "But it isn't really your choice to make for me, when the stars literally chose you for me!" I want to shake him. I want to cry. I want the years of emptiness to well up inside me and leak out, so I can be filled again. There's a lot I would have given to have been able to spend these years with a man like him at my side, encouraging me to take my place among the stars that brought us together. If we burn out, it just means we had the courage to once actually be on fire, as the old saying goes. Unlike the meteors, our own inner flame can be restored by the right kind of love. Until that love takes permanent residence in my life again, I have a special rock that Jack painted for me as a reminder of its existence.

I have fleeting moments of perfection witnessed under the stars with other men who shared part of the journey with me. I am truly blessed by the knowing that the depth of my devotion can be tested by a simple excursion out under the shooting stars. I hope one day I'll be able to catch one of those falling stars and bring it Home with me, where it belongs. Most women are not lucky enough to know where to look. For me, well, I'm extraordinarily lucky, I have been many times blessed, and, well, the Leonids are coming up again...