I am as of this moment (who am I kidding- as of FOREVER) in love with Rasputin.
It is a love I cannot fight because every time we speak I feel it as strongly as a rose yearns for the sun. And gesundheit! That is a bad analogy that I apologise for inflicting upon you.
It’s a shame that I am caught in the “once hooked-up with” position, because, my friends, once you have sunk into that depressing alcove of a relationship there are no hands to pull you free; no vines to scramble with, no light of the Lord nor Satan to follow.
You are just stuck.
This is the sadness of it all- this is what will haunt my children every night when I tell them the fables of my youth. Fortunately for them, these stories will make them old and wise beyond their years, and what their peers experience shall be naivety; while theirs shall be knowledge enriched glee. “Hook up at your own peril,” they shall hear me cry in the nirvana characterised by the hours after the clock has struck twelve. Sleep no more; offspring of mine shall sleep no more.
Can one even tell another that they are indeed- the love of their life? That their heart beats and their nose inhales and their eyes see purely for them? So daunting a task has actually been attempted by people close to my heart- I am, you are, we are (Australian) products of those 3 tiny words that allow another into the sensitive crevices of our hearts. Or so they say. I cannot bear another minute of this charmed life – I must tell him now, or Rasputin shalt be goneth forever.
But I am scared. A little girl has suddenly appeared in the corner of my mind; she is tugging on the sleeve of the tall girl bursting with false bravado. She questions my motives, my future- our future and, looking through the kaleidoscope she has so kindly offered me, I see that it is indeed a bleak future.
No! Wait! My children, we must hold on to the dream! Long live romance and song!
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