Old Fashioned Love Song

Just an old fashioned love song

Playing on the radio

And wrapped around the music

is the sound of someone promising they'll never go.

You'll swear you've heard it before

As it slowly rambles on and on.

No need in bringing em back

Cause they've never really gone

When I read the last phrase I ask if it's the songs or the lovers who've really never gone. Considering my own situation, I let the latter theory apply. Although, I think our friends of Three Dog Night are telling us love songs never having departed. The beauty of music is that we can interpret it in whatever fashion we choose. Not unlike an abstract piece of art; music lets us decide how it suits our emotional needs.

Blue Eyes called me last night. I wish that I could blame his Riss Radar, but this was my unintentional fault.

Along with my sister, I am joining the Relay for Life walk for the American Cancer Association. The event is not until June, but I wanted to alert friends and family of my affiliation. In a nutshell, I wanted them to know I'm begging for donations. I imported my Yahoo address list. I thought I'd carefully edited the list. Guess who remained on the list? If you're thinking Blue Eyes, you'd be correct.

Now, don't get me wrong. I know he'd donate generously, but I'm supposed to be fuming over our fall out of last summer. Agreed! I need to get over it. I HAVE, but for the sake of saving face, I'm a man-hating-man-bashing-woman-on-the-verge-of-no-return-from-Jadedtown.

Whenever he and I speak we spend a while catching each other up on our individual lives. He asks about Man-cub. I inquire about his daughters. Yada yada.

We always manage to walk hand in hand down memory lane. For a relationship that only lasted 3 months, we manage to talk ad nauseam about how grand most of it was. With each nuance, we realize how much we've grown separately, but never truly apart. Technically, one might suggest that our relationship never ceased to exist. Our romantic closeness had...or did it? When intimacy is surveyed, most people's minds race to the boudoir. I, on the other hand, prefer to choose this definition of Mirriam-Webster intimacy is:

1 a: intrinsic essential b: belonging to or characterizing one's deepest nature2: marked by very close association, contact, or familiarity 3 a: marked by a warm friendship developing through long association b: suggesting informal warmth or privacy 4: of a very personal or private nature

By that definition I am, without a doubt, intimately involved with Blue Eyes.

How this next subject became part of the dialogue, I do not know. Blue Eyes said something about the time I went blonde for him. I let out a hearty laugh and wondered if this was his way of letting me know he'd read my recent blog posts about him. With that belly laugh I asked him directly. He had no idea. So, I told him how I'd written about how we'd met, dated and broke up (but not fully). I had to explain that I often just write what comes to mind while I have inspiration. I didn't want him thinking that I was obsessing over him. The people in my life are my muses...good, bad and ugly.

As our telephone conversation progressed, the mention of my blog came up again. He asked if he could read it. I was hesitant. I feared what he might think of it. He insisted since the rest of the world had access then he ought to, also. "I was there, remember? I know what happened." Right. I had little to fear, but why was I feeling so queazy? With great deliberation, I sent him the link. And with the click of the enter key, my stomach sank, churned and gurgled with anticipation of displeasure. "I'll call you back when I'm done." And dial-tone...

I read through the entries about him. I searched for potentially harmful information. I quickly gave myself a mental slap. You were there, idiot! Nothing can be disputed.

The phone rang. It was he who is known as Blue Eyes. He liked it. He really liked it. He went so far as to read my entry about the costume follies. He pointed out some parts that really made him laugh. Then, he gave me validation by declaring how much he enjoyed my writing. I was able to make the great story teller laugh.

Bedtime was drawing near. There was a time when I'd do a wicked verbal tap dance in order to keep him on the phone. I never wanted to hang up for fear that it might be the last time. Now with our history, it's no longer questioned. We're that proverbial bad penny that keeps showing up. We're in it for the long haul whether we like it or not.

Just an old fashioned love song
Coming down in three part harmony.
Just an old fashioned love song
One I'm sure they wrote for you and me,

To weave our dreams upon and
Listen to each evening when the lights are low.
To underscore our love affair
With tenderness and feeling
That we've come to know.