Adventure is probably not the best way
to describe my grief, but taking my sister's advice, here I am trying
to write a blog entitled, Adventures in Grieving. The title is her
suggestion. As you can see this blog is not Adventures in Grieving.
Booted Butterfly is a random-o blog I
created on June 21st, 2010. It was really late and I should have been
sleeping instead. I was at home in the apartment I shared with my
fiancee. We lived in Brooklyn. I don't know how nostalgia works, but
on that night I was thinking of Lisa Bernstein. She and I were close
friends, and once in her life, I was the object of her desire. She
wrote me wonderful love letters. How I loved receiving her love
letters! First off, love letters were rare to come by in high school,
and hers were especially well-written. She also sang. She was a
karaoke queen. Her voice was brilliant, and soulful. Lisa and I maybe
shared a kiss or two, but we never fell in love. It wasn't meant to
be. Looking back, I think now that it was the depths of her inner
pain that gave Lisa's voice its mesmerizing sparkle. That's because
for as long as I knew Lisa, she longed. She longed for something
incomprehensible- a potent form of love that one only craves when
they can't love themselves. This would explain a lot of things about
Lisa. Whenever she fell in love, she suffered for it. I always wanted
Lisa to find love. More specifically the domesticating kind of love.
The one that makes you go to home depot, and buy hammocks. The one
that makes you shit with the bathroom door open while your partner
cooks breakfast, and talks to you about heirloomtomatoes. I don't
know if Lisa ever felt this kind of love. We slowly lost touch. Our
connection hanged perilously in the hands of mutual friends neither
of us really talked to, and on the aging social networks I hardly
ever visited. Then Lisa died. She ended her life. A mutual friend had
called.
Fourteen years ago, Lisa had written that I was like, "a butterfly with boots on." Fourteen years later, I see how much sentiments can stick with you. I mourned Lisa topically. She had been so far away from my experiences that while alive she had already become a memory, so her death was sad, but distant from my then current happy circumstances.
For me, heaven had come to earth.
I was in Love!
Head over heels,
blinded by,
beautiful, fantastic love.
Fourteen years ago, Lisa had written that I was like, "a butterfly with boots on." Fourteen years later, I see how much sentiments can stick with you. I mourned Lisa topically. She had been so far away from my experiences that while alive she had already become a memory, so her death was sad, but distant from my then current happy circumstances.
For me, heaven had come to earth.
I was in Love!
Head over heels,
blinded by,
beautiful, fantastic love.
