Yup

The lights turned on.
It'd been dark for a while.
Hearts part ways.
Lingering
Loveless
Periods
Ensue.
I indulged in such pitying.
I retraced my steps.
I darted the corners of the yellow room where we once slept.
I considered flying back to him.
Prompt a reunion.
I thought of the past.
I stumbled over bitter nights of tears and torment.
I mumbled over sweet moments we shared.
In the restaurant,
In the white bed,
At the hotel and in the kitchen.
He cooked for me once in the red kitchen.
Steak.
Salt.
Pepper.
Rocket.
Lemon.
Olive Oil.
Baby carrots.
Butter.
It was honest.
It was simple.
The best of the memories.
But after the sweet came the hysteria, and the sour.
The future weighed heavy.
"How will I love again?"
Typical question when love turns.
I cannot touch another" I'd say..
I cannot kiss another...I'd moan..
I cannot start again...I believed..
Why?
...because I held to the love. And did I ever.
Not a kiss for close to a year.
No hookup, no hiked skirt.
Lady in waiting.
Upholding
Ceremonious
My first true love.
The kind of love that makes you cry when making love.
Fuck it was good.
The kind of love that makes American Idol seem useful.
The last of my endeavoring search for a lifetime love.
Bawling as Casey covered "Jealous Guy" in the arms of The Little One.
Twittering.
Facebooking.
Watching.
Waiting.
FUCK!
Fuck ran through my mind for months. Fuck ran through my blood.
Get out.
Get the fuck out of me.
Release the dog. The demon. The devil. The ghost.
Candles lit.
Journals filled and filed.
Come or go.
Come or go.
Come or go!!!!
Mayhem.
So Why?
Why hold to love?
Love ended!
Because. Because. Because.
But because never changes the story.
He changed his mind.
Decidedly. Indifferently. Quickly.
"I'm exhausted" he explained.
"I need rest" he purred.
"Why?" I squealed.
"Why?" I held to with a hurricane of hope.
"Because" he sighed.
"Don't torture yourself" he preached.
Then why did I?
Mental lust.
Physical fantasy.
Memory psychosis.
His soulfulness.
My regret.
His tenderness.
My desire.
His fantasies.
My lesson.
Deep, honest, intimate, absolute and true
Love.
And...
Fear.
Blinding Fear.
Fucking useless, joyless, fear.
Because it wasn't "yup".
It was airplane. Skype and the like. High. Low.
Salvation. Levitation. Co creation. Designation.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
I need you. I need you. I need you.
Go away. Go away. Go away.
No, come back.
True and false. Premature. Overdone. Mismatched. Perfect fit. Inevitable. Doomed.
Drug. Heroine. White Bread. Cocaine. Desperate. Stuffing. Sugar. Painted. Raging. Wanting. Lust. Suck. Heavy.
Performance Art.
On both sides.
On both ends.
Mutually....

But, too little too late.
Mules are stubborn, swiftly chilled. Twins are impossible, fantastically insane.
Mules decide and reside. Twins float and follow.
I thought to be his wife.
That's why.
That's the fucking why.
I thought I was done. I thought I was anointed, crowned, cooked, feathered, fitted, admitted. Yessed, blessed, respected, elected mother fuckin' Queen Jane.

Oh dear me.


Well then.
Let's try and do this again.
Wipe the why. Scratch the past.
Redo.
I have new
I have new love.
Let me rephrase.
I have knew knowledge. New pull. New mojo. New talent. New configure. New squeeze.
Slipped right in.
Blew like a breeze and most unexpectedly.
Mr. Brown.
There is something exquisite about the surprise.
Makes you catch your breath. Makes you warm inside. Makes you vibrate.
No quake. No shake.
Just a hummmmm.
I won't try to move on.
I won't figure on the how and then...
There he'll be.
The future.
The next evolution.
My desire re-emerged.

At the same lame hipster spot downtown.
Can't even pronounce the name it will be so god damn hip.
High heels and a fucking fantastic new do
I'll go out for a quick smoke.
The little one in toe and we'll be chatting.
Leaning against a rail.
Mr. Brown will arise from the bench and motion for his friend to do the same. "Would you like to sit?" We'll both say thank you.
He'll draw me in.
It won't be the kindness.
It won't be the facial hair.
A little the facial hair. Wink.
But really it will be the eyes. It's always the eyes.
Amazing this love stuff. It has absolutely nothing to do with anything but the eyes.
The eyes, the eyes, the eyes...
Soulful, deep, brown, endless.
His hair.
Thick chocolate, almost black.
A slight wave.
Standing strong.
Mr. Brown.
He won't look around at the crowd.
He'll look right at me.
Knowing.
Pull.
Mojo.
Yup.

That'll be it.
I've had yup before.
Only a handful of times. I can have it again.
It's not sexual. It's not a man woman thing. It's not Hollywood. It's not Legends of the Fucking Fall. There's no big bang.
It's Silent Night.
It's next generation. It's metaphysical celebration. It's tender. It's knowing. It's fucking lovely.
Lovely.
What a word.
Lovely means everything to me.
It's yup with a dress.

When I met Jhoon, it was hmmm. Yup.
Good stuff.
When I met The Baraness
It was motion.
Calm.
Joined forces amidst the insane. Yup.
When I met The Little One, we stood in a parking lot, lit a cigarette.
There was nodding.
See, knowing. Nothing too grand or excitable. Nothing too hot. Nothing to shiver about. Nothing to swoon over. Just a nod of the head and a "yup".

Yup intersections last for fucking ever.
Quick fix white bread, "you said you loved me" end in a tired blink.
Yups are brilliant. They are artistic. Photographic. Reality. Reality with icing. Not a fucking catastrophic black hole oozing disease and rejection. Yup doesn't slice or tease. Yup says "yes please".
Yes please, I will have yup tonight with a side of yup and yup on ice and for dessert two scoops of yup.
Thank you very fucking much.
I will not have Kaboom! I will not swoon, I will not rattle, I will not change my look, suck it in, giggle when I don't agree, act like the woman you want me to be.
It will be calm,
It will be quiet,
It will be comfortable.
The familiar.
Easy. Easy. Easy.
Does anyone know easy anymore?
I do.
It's new.
No more begging, we got that out of the way recently. No more needing, we shot needing in the fucking face. And no more crying, seriously? fuck crying.
It will be easy.
It will be easy and fantastic.
No strain.
No pain.
He'll get me. I'll get him. Done. Easy.
No push. No explanation. No work. No trying. No nerves. No dying.
No Dylan.
No Desire.
No Come On Baby Light My Fire.
Easy.
And it's easy to know when you feel good.
It's easy to know when you "feel" liked. When someone is listening. When someone is into it. It's so fucking easy. It's undeniable.
Eyes widen.
Response natural.
Laughter rhythmic.
He won't be bored or bothered.
I won't be twitching.
I'll talk music.
He'll listen.
He'll talk pilot.
I will laugh.
Hands moving about in arrows. Diagramming. Shooting through the air. Drawing plot.
Fun. Not "I've got to call my mom, I'm getting married".
Just fun. Cool. Chill. Easy. Yup...
And I have learned from this quiet time of retrospection, that great things come from hardship. Wonderful, classic, sweet and special things are born from the broth of burden.
I have learned about what it is that I do want from the pain of what I don't.
Rather than hear "I Love You", I'd love to be heard.
I'd swap earth shattering for solid ground. Knowing he wants to stick around.
I'd rather be liked than loved.
I'd rather be enjoyed than needed.
And I most definitely want the dance of Good than "I can't live with out you".
Round two.
Round two I'll be better.
Round two I'll be nice. I'll be pretty. I'll be so sweet.
I will not criticize.
I will not idolize.
I will not rebuke.
I will not be cruel.
It will be yup and a sigh and oh me oh my. It will not scare me or dare me to be anything
But me.
And at heart I am kind and giving.
I do love and love well. Just ask my girl friends. Double wink.
I'm not saying Mr. Brown and I won't have the highs.
I'm not saying I won't cry when we make love.
What I'm saying is yup.
And that's it. Nothing else.
Just a nod and a wink and a
Yup.