On Rugs

And so I will write this while I still have too much wine running in my veins. I must say what I need to while I still can. I miss you. There was nothing unbeautiful about eighteen months; pizza places, lacey and quaint, forests, large and breathtaking, glances, furtive and real, birthdays, silent and peaceful. I miss you. Surely you have taught me all I needed to know. Surely this was love. I am crying now. It does not matter what lies tainted truth, what fears tainted peace. Tomorrow I will steal my life back from the puppet masters and practise what you preached. Tomorrow I will take hold of the hand you still offer me, and I will walk on that road you kept trying to have me take. I will remove the masks and I will sit in the glory of what our love was. Tomorrow I will raise a glass to our love; for it was what life tries to teach us. I will raise a glass because it was life in a moment. I will denounce my lies and I will shout my truths, for this is what you taught me. I will celebrate you, for you are forever. I will declare that you are, were truly beauty, and I am thankful for you. Because this is life I live now.  And you were fully life, and fully life now. Thank you. And I will not regret the sadness that comes with recognising joy. I will not forget to say to my daughter, some rugs are riches. Good glory, some rugs are riches! Thank you. Always and forever. 

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