Tonight he returns. It’s been three long, tedious weeks of staring at my bound-in-synthetic-plaster leg, and sighing from the heat — and tonight he boards the plane to return.
There are several important and significant people who inspire in me a need to put my feelings into black and white. This one is the one who is *the one* — if that makes any sense.
I love them all, my men. Each in their own way delights and excites me — else why would I spend my time with them. And I care for them all deeply. They all know that exclusivity is not my way, and they accept it — I’m upfront about that from the word go. But there is one with whom I share the bond of the soulmate — and it is he of whom I write in this particular piece.
How do I describe that oh-so-subtle something that sets him apart? I do not wish in any way to sound overly sentimental and kitschy, so I turn instead to the higher power of Claude Debussy. The beauty of this piece in particular (and I have deliberately linked to the extended version) uses music to say the words that, for once, are failing my fingers.
What can I tell you? It must be love. It is love.