I met my old friend Ricardo
in a café the other day.
I’d wandered down the street
after I’d gotten a bite to eat.
I suddenly craved tea and being
the type who refuses to deny my cravings,
I wandered into this little café.
I chose a seat way in the back
as Fate would have it
that’s where he was sitting too.
Startled, I stared openly.
I thought you had died, I told him.
He just smiled. No, he replied, you
wanted to believe I had died. There’s
a difference between the two.
Deep down inside you’ve always known
I never could really die. How can what’s
real, truly real, ever die?
Before long, I felt tears welling in my eyes.
How did you end up here, I asked.
I’ve been here all along, he assured me.
We talked for hours, Ricardo and I
He told me about the love of his life and
I told him about mine.
Ricardo told me, Most people believe
my third wife was the one I loved the most,
the one my soul longed to create life
Those people are wrong. The one I loved
most belonged to another. Or rather she chose
to love another. I was poor and she desired
riches beyond the riches of heart.
Tears glistened in his eyes as he told how
he spent years trying to unlove her. You know,
he said, you don’t choose who your soul falls
in love with. And my soul chose her. My soul
I wrote some of the saddest lines in my life as
those days stretched on like an endless night
void of stars and moonlight.
He spoke of nights where he was tortured by
hearing the voice of his one true love. She only
visited me at night while I slept. Sometimes
I slept for days at a time.
It was all I had left, just the sound of her voice
and knowing I’d never be able to hold her again
in my arms; I could only hold her in my memory.
That knowledge began a special kind of dying
even though I went on to live half a century more.
Why are you telling me this Ricardo? I cannot fix
your broken heart when my own heart has been
stitched back together so many times. My heart
is a piecemeal quilt of emotions and I’m always
afraid it’ll completely come undone at the seams.
When he fell into my arms, I must admit
I’d been expecting it. I’d always known Love
owned a piece of my soul but like Ricardo
I was prepared to live with only the voice
of my love to hold onto.
I know the truth that our soul loves who it
chooses, but sometimes the soul and body
have separate wishes, dreams and desires.
Ricardo and I spent the rest of our time in silence.
No words were needed in the presence of Love.
Peace & Love,