January 24, 2015


G is painting cut out letters and installing a lovely quote around the perimeter of his bedroom walls. Not *this* quote. 

So we're well into late January and there is snow on the ground and I'm, of course, in a different mode from wherever ago wherein I was either accidentally crushing bitty lizards in my step in the tropics of Florida (and experiencing No Snow) or traipsing along Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles (No Snow, No RAIN, even.) So. Snow on the ground. Feeling amazed at the concept.

Greg reached out to me.

It was Christmas Day. I was feeling morose, as I have been for so many, many months, over the loss of that solid pure soul in my life. As previously indicated, I moved out of his apartment sometime in July, and we exchanged a few aggravated emails after but then, a strong silence fell over us. And that was seemingly it. The end. An end to a beautiful yet aggressive and hostile force that had taken hold of us so deeply.

He reached out to me in this way: he hand-wrote a letter to me, scanned, and emailed it to me, not knowing my current mailing address here in Williamsburg. Of course, my heart leapt into my throat at receipt. 

My holidays were hollow. I felt a loss, a void that couldn't be filled, not with presents, or cheer, or food or drink or anything that would normally aid someone in feeling happy. But that letter from him flooded all of my lost emotion, filled me up with hope for something. And it wasn't a "Let's get back together" letter. It was simply a reach-out. A hand extended.

Something terrible happened, then. Within a couple of days, I heard from him again, only to learn that his Aunt Marie's husband Sam had shot himself, and didn't survive. I had met Marie and Sam a couple of times while I was in Florida (their home: Homosassa.) Sam was a wonderful, incredible man. He ran marathons. He wrote a book once, a copy of which he gave to Greg to give to me after we spoke, at large, about my Kanji tattoo that reads "poem." He was intelligent, and the light of Marie's life. This was a horrible incident. Sam's depression wasn't clear to me (not that we would have broached that topic) but to learn of this tragedy was horrific. 

Not to suggest, because it isn't so, that Sam's tragedy was an immediate segue into Greg and I reconnecting in person mere days later. I think Greg and I were always meant to find each other again, somehow. And to this moment, I am not sure either of us have any idea where we're taking this.

I think...more to follow. I have suddenly become irrelevantly filled with sorrow.

But. We have found each other again. In whatever capacity.