the plague rages

 The dreams were wild, and sexual. It’s also very surprising to dream in this manner of ex-colleagues from sixteen or seventeen years ago. There was also one about an ex-girlfriend, although this was more conversational with tremendous suggestion and anticipation. The worst part about dreams is that they often make one want to message someone in the morning… someone one probably shouldn’t message. 

Alas, here I am, awake before 6am on a Sunday morning. The day is filled with promise and potential and yet it also guarantees the end of a long weekend. I hear the Doves singing, they are like family. Two of them had lived here for a while, they nested and had young. Sometimes I see the four of them perched on the roof looking down into the pool area, their kingdom, or even on the fence beside the pool as I swim as if they are enjoying the moment of company. 

Of late, I have been plagued, again, with thoughts of my French muse, the lady who stole my heart thirteen years ago in Madrid. It was an all-consuming desire… and a beautiful friendship, and even now I long to speak to her, to see her, to share time with her. It placed in me the belief that unrequited love may be the most lasting of loves. It also made me realise that the connection to certain people, or to one individual, is more powerful than any other connection we may make in a lifetime. Having said that, I am unsure of its longevity if it becomes a permanent connection. 

Let me cycle for a frozen margarita…



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