Regrets

An acquaintance wrote of regrets.

I cried

And cried

And cried

I dissolved to tears

* * *

Some Songs...

find our ears at unexpected moments. Then settle in to stay...

(Humble thanks to Ms. Wine n’ Words)



September
By Daughtry

Half the time passed away
All the trouble that we gave
And all those days we spent out by the lake
Has it all gone to waste?
All the promises we made?
One by one they vanished just the same

Of all the things I still remember
Summers never looked the same
Years go by and time just seems to fly
But the memories remain
In the middle of September
We still play out in the rain
Nothing to lose but everything to gain
Reflecting now on how things could've been
It was worth it in the end

Now it all seems so clear
There's nothing left to fear
So we made our way by finding what was real
Now the days are so long
That summer's moving on
Reach for something that's already gone

Oh, yeah

Of all the things I still remember
Summers never looked the same
Years go by and time just seems to fly
But the memories remain
In the middle of September
We still play out in the rain
Nothing to lose but everything to gain
Reflecting now on how things could've been

It was worth it in the end

Yeah, we knew we had to lose this time
But we never knew when, and we never knew...how
We would end up where we are
Yeah, we knew we had to leave this town
But we never knew when, and we never knew how

Never knew anything

Of all the things I still remember
Summers never looked the same
Years go by and time just seems to fly
But the memories remain
In the middle of September
We still play out in the rain
Nothing to lose but everything to gain
Reflecting now on how things could've been
It was worth it in the end

Hey, yeah, yeah

* * *

If I Claimed...

to have all the answers, would you believe me? If I professed wisdom beyond mere mortal ken, would you believe?

And what would you call me? Buddha? Svengali? Rasputin? Messiah?

(Just funnin' ya...I got no answers. Trust me on this.)

* * *

Gratuitous Non-Sequitor:

I do not feel any particular compulsion to date a woman who has a “barbed-wire” tattoo inked around her upper bicep.

But...hey...that’s just me.

* * *

Criteria

My thoughts have been greatly muddled of late. There have been too many. Most, frankly, were rather prosaic...so I won’t bore you with those. I’ll bore you with thoughts related to aging...a subject very much on my mind.

This particular entry comes out of order. It’s a disjointed thought.
I had been mulling the more consequential aspects of aging but became somehow distracted by a simpler notion: my criteria for an "ideal lover" have changed.

The notion just came outta nowhere and caught me by surprise. Yes, my criteria have changed.

When I was young, youngish, kinda/sorta youngish, I was rather vulnerable to great pairs o’ gams (I’m not ashamed to admit that, either. I will go to my grave believing that a woman sporting a great pair of legs is a cosmic delight). Look, I wasn’t oblivious to the female brain (from my earliest “coherent-thought” days, I thought females were, somehow, “special” or “superior”. Not so much, nowadays). But, frankly, I truly admired nipples that could grow hard enough to cut glass or chip teeth. I did. Magnificence has its place.

When I was young, youngish, kinda/sorta youngish, hormones ruled (or...even as I grayed, still had their place). Whether consciously or not, rationally or not, most men are mesmerized by the sheer sexuality/fecundity of females. We are. That’s why there are billions of us. We kinda got the whole sexuality/fecundity “thing” down.

But. Things change.

I gotta say, I’m not comfortable thinking the things I think. I’d rather be thinking ‘bout the days when I was young and...most decidedly...
crazy. But, I’ll be honest. I think about “aging” often. I think of it every morning when I spy myself in the bathroom mirror.

I am aging. I am growing old. I am wrinkling and rusting and aching and failing.

I am experiencing the fate of every living organism that ever was or will be.

It’s not all abject suckage. It’s not. For example, I discovered my criteria have changed.

It’s not that I don’t love well-turned pins. I do. It’s not that a perfectly-curved hip no longer inspires. It does. And I’m still a fan o’ chipped teeth given the proper circumstances.

Some things are simply hard-wired in the genome.

But my criteria for ecstasy, today...tomorrow...my end of days?
A loving, giving, sharing heart. A patient heart. A grateful heart.
A funny heart. A forgiving heart. A striving heart. An appreciative heart. A consoling heart.

A tender heart.

* * *

Time marches on. Things change.

* * *