It doesn't matter where I go, not any more. I can be any where in the world and that will be where he is. As long as I am happy he is with me. He was my first love and continues loving me even as his bones turn to dust.
I am in bed reading and suddenly thoughts of my grandfather came flooding. I miss him so much. I wish he could have gone to Paris with me. Maybe he did, there at Pere Lechaise, in the quiet solitude between the stone graves and their mossy coats. There was a light drizzle the entire time I was there and the sun was no where in sight. There was constant contact upon my face with nature and it was almost comforting, to be in such a timeless place among so many sleeping souls, with the rain always surrounding me, reminding me that I wasn't alone. I took my time there and took the long way through the cemetery to find Oscar Wilde's grave. I didn't want my journey to end upon discovery, I wanted the search to last forever. In my darkest hours, I imagine myself back at that beautiful place, full of life, yet all at peace, making my way towards him. Perhaps he was walking right beside me all along. That would be so nice to have shared such a lovely quiet walk, like the many bike rides we shared together in my childhood; the smell of morning dew and early day sunrise is synonymous with his smile. And what a charming smile he had!
It does seem a bit macabre doesn't it? To yearn for a cemetery, but for me they have never represented death but have always meant life, and hopefully a life fully lived. There is a peace that comes when we accept our mortality. In realizing that it is transient we realize that love is not. It lasts forever, long after the house has been torn down or abandoned, the soul leaving the body, his love will always remain.
I'm a pessimist. Ask me on any given day if I believe in love, I will always confidently say that I don't. But that's not entirely true because he loves me more than anything in the world and I did nothing to deserve it. Maybe that's the only type of love that I believe in, the bond of blood and family. Beyond that, I can confidently say that I don't.
I am in bed reading and suddenly thoughts of my grandfather came flooding. I miss him so much. I wish he could have gone to Paris with me. Maybe he did, there at Pere Lechaise, in the quiet solitude between the stone graves and their mossy coats. There was a light drizzle the entire time I was there and the sun was no where in sight. There was constant contact upon my face with nature and it was almost comforting, to be in such a timeless place among so many sleeping souls, with the rain always surrounding me, reminding me that I wasn't alone. I took my time there and took the long way through the cemetery to find Oscar Wilde's grave. I didn't want my journey to end upon discovery, I wanted the search to last forever. In my darkest hours, I imagine myself back at that beautiful place, full of life, yet all at peace, making my way towards him. Perhaps he was walking right beside me all along. That would be so nice to have shared such a lovely quiet walk, like the many bike rides we shared together in my childhood; the smell of morning dew and early day sunrise is synonymous with his smile. And what a charming smile he had!
It does seem a bit macabre doesn't it? To yearn for a cemetery, but for me they have never represented death but have always meant life, and hopefully a life fully lived. There is a peace that comes when we accept our mortality. In realizing that it is transient we realize that love is not. It lasts forever, long after the house has been torn down or abandoned, the soul leaving the body, his love will always remain.
I'm a pessimist. Ask me on any given day if I believe in love, I will always confidently say that I don't. But that's not entirely true because he loves me more than anything in the world and I did nothing to deserve it. Maybe that's the only type of love that I believe in, the bond of blood and family. Beyond that, I can confidently say that I don't.
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