Love Stories are not true. They are more than true. Not because they tell us that loneliness exists, but because they tell us that loneliness can be defeated. Here are a few of the many reasons I pay tribute to Gina on her birthday.
—She is far more than the bright sparkling creature I had originally thought when we fell in love. She has an eye to see and an ear to hear: I can show her things and tell her things, and taste the bliss of feeling that everything we share creates long reverberations and echoes of magic and wonder.
—She innately understands the unspoken words that I haltingly attempt to utter from my secret soul.
—She smells of communal and comforting pheromones, a rich aroma of lavender and musk I can only describe as the bouquet of love and tenderness.
—She is beautiful inside and out. She is in her sixties, but when we walk along the beach, she turns the eyes of men (and women) half her age. Ah, her legs. Longer than the Bible and a hell of a lot more fun, they stretch forever. Just the other day, a lady exclaimed, “Good Lord, your legs should be illegal.”
—Her eyes, her eyes, those captivating blue-gray eyes, they shine like the stars. And that smile, it makes the whole world stop and stare. Her body demands my artistic admiration and my masculine attention and does not take no, non, nein, nyet, or even maybe for an answer.
—I glimpse existential transcendence in the sparks that come from striking my soul against hers.
—I am able to talk to her without effort, without hiding, and at the same time, I feel absolutely comfortable not saying a word.
—She feels greatness in me.
—She has taught me that I don’t have to be perfect, I can be good.
—She has let me gradually trust again. To timidly bare my past, my mistakes, my failures, my lusts, my thorns in the flesh. I have not one—NOT ONE—secret hidden from her. This would not be wise with anyone else I have ever known—but with her, it encourages a shared communion that has made our mutual love and empathy stronger.
—Different people appear to have varyingly active capacities for pleasure. In Gina, I have found my match.
—While others shuffle with a heavy heart and are reamed with trouble—she bounces and shines and appears to be on a near-permanent rampage of enjoyment.
—She has not let life spank out, wash out, church out, or comb out the magic in her being.
—She avoids the straight and narrow. She does not act her age. She refuses to grow up. She is wild and youthful. She is not afraid to laugh, lust, and live. In short, she is real.
Love Stories are not true. They are more than true. Not because they tell us that loneliness exists, but because they tell us that loneliness can be defeated.
Happy Birthday to Gina, my wife, my best friend, my lover and my whole mate. I love you with all my body, mind, spirit, and soul.
Note: Gina's birthday is a week away, but I wanted my tribute to her to be my last Facebook/Twitter/LinkedIn post.