I’ve fallen in love with your spirit

Let it be known that I’ve fallen in love with your spirit.

Not you specifically. You could be the proverbial “no one knows you’re a dog on the internet.” (Not that you’re ugly or that you lick your privates, or beg for treats at inopportune times.)

No, it’s not you, per se, for how can anyone truly know who you *are* on the net?

But rather, it’s you — that adventurous soul who dares to strike out, to pick up and move when the mood or necessity strikes you. It’s you and your familiar predilections and inferences that seem like memories. It’s you, whose universe circulates thirty degrees in front (or behind) my own. It’s you whose scant mention of the trivialities of life have made me think, yeah, that’s exactly how I’d interpret that.

The online world condemns and empowers us to love from afar. There are those folks who you’ve met online, have read about, dreamt about, or envisioned meeting, sipping coffee together as the sun crawls over the snow topped mountain. They’ve expressed themselves in such a way that you feel their yearning, their doubts and their failures. We ache that we can’t be there to comfort them, console them. And we, at times, fantasize about such spirits entering our own lives, consoling and pampering our forlorn selves.

Let it be known this love letter goes out to you. If you’ve ever hoped that your sentiment has found its niche on some relic strew shelf, nestled next to mine, know that the sharing of such moments are not phantasms of fallacy. For who is to say that connections made through the ether of net cannot transcend into the ether of cosmic connection.

I entered into this whimsical meandering with a singular contact in mind. Yet, as I explored the concept, it occurred to me that we all, most likely, have fallen in love (or perhaps love’s veneer, infatuation) with those whom we’ve encountered here in the mind’s most fertile playground.

I thought to question it. Coat my daydreams with remorse or shame. But why? Our lives are so narrow these days; mere pockets of duty and obligation peppered with the scant spice of spontaneous serendipity. If I’ve loved you in my mind’s eye, who’s to deny me my jubilation?

Only me.

Embrace your dreams, for tomorrow you may be dead.

Versus: The love I remember

Two people sitting on a bench.

He turns to her. “If this is what addiction is about, then I can understand why it could be a problem. But for me, addicted to you is the only cure for loneliness I could have hoped for.”

“Just a touch, from the tip of you finger, and I feel connected.” She raises a finger in the air.

“And I, connected to you.” He mirrors her finger and they touch. “Sitting here, heady from the smell of you, it fills me with such longing to hold you even closer.”

“And when your fingertip leaves me, the sense of loss crashes over me like a wave. But then I just have to look into your eyes…” She gazes intently.

He stares back. “And I into your eyes, and the universe swells with my love for you.”

“Hold my hand, and I’ll hold your heart,” she says. Their hands touch and their fingers interlock.

He smiles fondly. “And your heart I will nurture as my own.”

~~~ Versus ~~~

He opened his eyes and his first thought was of her.

He jumped into his clothes and ran out the door, coffee and food be damned. The dew lay thick upon the grass. When he got to the field of flowers, just blooming in this bright spring morning, his pants became soaked as he swam through the wet leaves plucking blossoms of wild flowers, a billowing bouquet of yellows and blues.

She heard tapping on her window, tiny stones plinking off the glass. She turned in bed to stare out into April’s sunrise. A scuffle of sound came from outside and she caught sight of the top of his head peaking over the sill.

She hurried to free the latch and lift the sash. There he was, a total mess of hair and loose clothing. She cupped both his cheeks and bent to kiss him fully.

Wavering on the ladder he swung his arm up from behind his back and thrust the expanse of green stems and crazy flowers into her room.

She gasped as droplets of cold dew slipped down his fingers to splash off her bare feet. She gripped his hand in both of hers and took the bunch of cornflowers, daisies and queen-anne’s-lace from his fist. Her eyes blazed with wonder at the array of color and variety. They softened as she return to kiss him once again.

His purchase at the top of the ladder slipped and the thing fell out from under him. He lurched to grab the window frame.

She heard the clatter and froze to see him dangling. Dropping the bouquet, which exploded in disarray, she grabbed his arms and helped to pull him inside.

They fell back over the flowers, laughing with relief, kissing in passion.

~~~ Comparison ~~~

Which one will you remember?

The words or the actions?

Do actions speak louder than words?

Are words more powerful than actions?