Frolic Beach

I laid on a massive old-growth redwood log. The winter storms had wrenched it free, and now it rested between rocks on the beach called, Frolic. Perhaps it had lain in the depths of one of our many rivers, and was just now breathing the air of 2017. It must be over a thousand years old. I’ve never seen a partial trunk this large. The original tree must have been hundreds of feet tall. A true sentry of the north coast. I wonder how long it had remained safely hidden from greedy log hunters. I hope it remains safe on this little protected alcove beach. I need to go and see it once in a while, sit on it, remember.

Just a week past, and we were down here together. The waterfall crashing behind, the ocean surging and ebbing on the pebbly beach. He took pictures of me, and I was glowing and beautiful. I always attribute my smile to his attentions, and this time was no different. I’d chosen to live in my moment, to enjoy the only person I’ve ever loved with this sort of hunger, and need, and passion. 

He’d come back to me, and I was ever hopeful that desire had won the day, and he wasn’t who I feared he was. I wanted to be wrong about him. I even wanted my entire book to be an incorrect assessment of the man I’d learned to distrust.

I believed him when he apologized. I believed his fabulous acting job. I believed he loved me. His tear-filled apology, should win an award. When he said he, “Really loved me,” I totally bought every word! I didn’t know he was such a great actor. Now I wonder about everything he’s ever said to me. Now I wonder who I thought I was in love with. I fear he is nothing more than a fabrication of an ideal I no longer hold. 

I feel a fool, yet again. I should have known better. I’d read enough to know what others had gone through with his sort of personality. They all agreed he’d do it again. He’d have too. He hadn’t yet won, or hurt me enough to feel better about himself. He hadn’t yet truly destroyed me. 

The sad part is that, this time, I didn’t even cry when he turned on me. I think the true heartbreak happened when he first began, months and months in the past. It was the shock and surprise that someone I loved, and who I thought loved me, could so easily hurt me, then discard me and act as if I didn’t exist. 

He even admitted to returning to his demon possessed ex, as if that meant anything to me other than she was someone he was considering choosing. It made me feel like shit. To be lumped in with her as a possible choice, is perhaps the worst insult ever. 

Of course, perhaps everything he’s told me about her, are yet more lies. Perhaps she’s just like me, and he managed to break her spirit entirely, and he likes to revisit her, grave, so he can dance upon it. 

My spirit isn’t destroyed, but that is only because of my faith. I know with certainty, what is meant to be mine, will be mine; what is supposed to be in my life, will be. I don’t need to do anything other than accept where I am and how my heavenly helpers are guiding me; accept what is given and also taken away. That is all. 

When it is given, I wallow in the, allow. And I wallowed with him for over a week. It was blissful euphoria to be with him again, but he was presenting himself as my, ideal, and even though I knew this was a possibility, I made a conscious choice to enjoy that, ideal. 

I will be fifty in a month, and I’ve learned life is nothing more than a series of denied wishes and failed attempts. The far and few between moments of passion, are to be grabbed with both fists; enjoy, sate, absorb, soak, wallow and most of all, feed the love. 

My hope is always, if we fed the love enough, it would become the stronger part in both of us, and the mean, negative, rule oriented, competitor, direct-line thinking, side of us, would starve and eventually disappear. It’s never really worked that way, but I keep trying. 

I always admire determination.

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