February 1993

February 6, 1993
In one short time, so many things can change,
A heart may lave its grieving lessoned be;
And thus my spirit was quickly rearranged
When with thy welcome voice spoke out to me
A stranger then, yes so no more
New hopes of love set I in store.
As Jason did the Golden Fleece pursue
O'er land and sea did cross in hopes to find,
My heart I know hath searched for one as you
Which you with youth some spirit did remind.
And all that rests upon our chanced meet
To me is candy bitter, and yet sweet.
I know you not, yet know thy sort full well.
For you, my soul hath searched; if not by name.
Then surely by purest want to tell
That if thou know true love, I can the same
Our hearts well met afore each face we see
And at such time comes true Delivery.
A phone call from my Frontiers ad proved him to be a "different" sort of person… made me smile

February 7, 1993
Alas the image of thy soul was clear
And perfect, so they visage did not I fear
Our likes alike, our wants akin to each
Of newfound love to you I now beseech.
For I know none such as thee.
If o'er the times to come we start to bind
As tight-fit armor, protect my heart and mind
Make no attempt at forcing shows of love
And I'll, in turn, my true love prove.
And thus continue eternally.
Dear Jason, sweetest man of late I found
Upon thy virtues I cannot expound
Thy loving-kindness, gentle truth do show
How perfectly a flow'r in sunlight grow
Tho true love thou has ne'er known
I you elect to keep within my heart
Though separate, allow our souls ne'er part
And days of sun-filled glory let us see
Upon our jointed journey to antiquity.
Jason, I hope you for mine own.
Last night I had dinner at Paradise and saw Alive. A quick kiss goodnight proved him to be very sweet and not quick for sex.

February 8, 1993
As last night was casual, so is my verse.
I'll try this time to sound less rehearsed.
Though thoughts of you make the words flow.
Last night again was time I did enjoy
I find comfort in your company
And wished you hadn't need to go.
Your sparkling eyes illuminate your smile
So much that I did stare all the while
at them, and it, 'stead of our show.
From which at work I rescued you
Until your soft-lipped kiss was through
I willed all time to cease, or slow.
But just as time can't slow its ceaseless pace
Neither can I forget your angelic face
When in the bed for sleep I go.
I sit and think of lofty phrase
In this, a lover's semi-daze
Which proves to me all I need to know.
Try as I may, and as I might
My words return to form and light
And love with light is all I hope to grow.
This was written after a night spent pampering Jason. I cooked a mediocre pizza, served him chilled Zinfandel (his favorite) and we sat together with a movie on the couch. Over dinner, we discussed that we ought to take things slowly as each of us admits to having made poor choices our of rushed desperation in past affairs.
How strange I should be writing of new life and love. Anette just called to tell me her father passed away on Friday. I never knew him that well, but it seems I shall attend my first funeral. Even now the "Death March" is on the classical station. Coincidence or Irony? Or the gods' way of closing one chapter and leaving a blank page for a new one? Would that I could read my own heart and know if love may therein reside. I feel so little sorrow for her loss and so little real love for my new beau. Quoi a faire?

February 9, 1993
A poor day where Jason's concerned
So I'll write of else I learned
Probationary crimes are cleared
Not going back to jail as I'd feared.
And I'll save money from now on, too
Over two thousand dollars before I'm through.
I owe it to the move to Long Beach
It keeps me out of Orange's reach
So record cleared, and mind at ease
I recommit to these properties:
To watch my eating, exercise
Tell the truth instead of lies
Not mix lust with wholesome love
That last one should go up above.
It's easy now to think it True
But don't forget who's fooling who.
In love with love is how I feel.
But oh! How I long for something real.
I'd gladly give up all I own
If there was just a way of knowing
When someone is right for you
When you have something that's true.
Short phone call - he was busy at work and couldn't talk. Said we'd talk tomorrow.

February 11, 1993
Je ne sais pas quoi a faire! Le garçon, Jason, sera 21 ans demain. Et je n'ai pas lui parler aujourd'hui. J'ai peur qu'il ne m'aime plus (ou, peut-être, jamais)?
Enough trite french, the truth is I miss Jason. The weekend was great, but two letters and four days later I still do not feel real close to him. He is such a nice guy that I fear I may push things to make them work. But we both want the same things: family, stability, a relationship into which we each can invest our very lives. It HAS to work, n'est-ce pas?

February 13, 1993
Let the paranoid worrying begin. So, I know Jason got my card, my letters, and my phone calls. And he shows no immediate interest in going out again. Welcome to "Why Do Nice Guys Finish Last" starring your host, Mathew the Loser. Just once I would like to meet a together man who can get into romance, honesty, open communication of feelings. Nope. I get guys who profess such traits but then fail to communicate well at all. So, his birthday come and gone, Valentine's Day is tomorrow and I need to decide: Do I give him the card and bear or not? If I do, it may be "too much too soon" but if I don't then I won't be true to my real feelings. I suppose Shakespeare wins out here, "To thine own self be true." After all, he has said only that he is not used to such attention, he never said he didn't like it. To tell the truth, men are pigs.
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