Leaning

We talked about October, the future, sized up the challenges, the distance

We found focus, planned for little, diminished our expectations

In a familiar place, we watched the rivers lean into each other

We leaned, too, with entangled fingers, hands, the warmth of our knees touching, fall sunlight dancing on our faces

The waters merged in front of us, one snaking from southern plains the other clear water from the mountains close by

Miles in common and little else, the rivers collide rather peacefully, embracing the other just the way it came

A cold, cloudy swirling, to be sure, but two souls finding a way, to float away, leaning downstream together

Satellite Sierra

Satellite Sierra ... you fly, it's true
High above still, around, away, and back again
You come and you go

My eye fixates, my breath taken
You dance in magnificence

Large from a distance,
you are bright like a star in the dark
Daytime drags, I've lost you again

Are you bigger than my arms?
I dream you're within reach, believe it

Can I wrap you? I need to try.
I need to wrap. I want too much

You come and you go

Heart Phones

Before, my phone beeped like a soft kiss, a nibble; an embrace from another time zone. Now, just a beep. I miss the kiss.

What do future relationships look like? Not too far back our smart phones evolved, grew beyond their pixels, chips, buttons, and data plan coverage maps. Mobile device morphed into the primary conduit for ongoing emotional exchange, especially so when romance is involved — especially more pronounced when long distance romance is in play.

Is it unreasonable to assume that the smart phone we carry in our pocket is also a heart phone, one we carry into the deepest pockets of who we are as lovers, friends, spouses?

Does romantic relationship require physical presence to thrive? Does proximity play a huge factor in whether a romantic relationship lasts? Does it matter anymore?

People who enjoy ongoing physical closeness break up all the time. They had every advantage to succeed. You hear of LDRs (long distance relationships) lasting. But they're the exception. The rule says the deck is stacked against those who choose to love each other from a distance.

Found the following LDR statistics at
http://www.statisticbrain.com/long-distance-relationship-statistics/

Total percentage of U.S. marriages that are considered long distance relationships	2.9%
Average amount of time for long distance relationship to break up if it’s not going to work	4.5 months
Total percentage of long distance relationships that fail when changes aren’t planned for	70%
Total amount of couple who claim they’re in a long distance relationship	14 million
Total percentage of marriages in U.S. that start as a long distance relationship	10%
Total percentage of college relationships that are long distance	32.5%
Total percent of long distance relationships that break-up	40%
Total percentage of engaged couples that have been in a long distance relationship	75%
Total amount of marriages that are long distance relationships	3.75 million
The following shows both the average (median) response and the range of 95% of LDRs from a sample of over 200
Average distance couple in LDR lived from each other	125 miles
Average times couple visited each other per month	1.5
Average amount of time in between phone calls	2.7 days
Average amount of letters written to each other per month	3
Average amount of time expected to be separated before LDR couple can move closer together	14 months

(Disclaimer: I'm not an expert, and don't pretend to be.)

Of course, draw your own conclusions. But it seems LDRs are close to the average for more conventional relationships, in that half or near half of LDRs fail too (40% according to this survey).

Actually, LDRs seem to do better. Can that be right? Must research more....

Debating the pros and cons of LDRs isn't why I'm writing today. It's my phone; it's dead, lays there like a black corpse on the table — a previously vivacious device gone strangely silent after almost a year of phrenetic vibrating, ringing, beeping, battery draining long conversations, hot topics, cool texts, and all the rest. Good good nights and good good mornings. It was all good, babe; now gone.

The heart was ripped out of my smart phone (perhaps as the device was meant to be). And it's taking this new reality better than me. It only looks dead, and still functions. Whereas I'm barely functioning and feel like I'm absolutely dying.

My case against Valentine's Day

A metric ton of marketing always comes with the holiday known as Valentine’s Day. And, since we all know marketing is, in fact, truth, then the retailer will bank on us to validate our lovesick ways at the cash register. Florists, jewelers, restaurants, car companies, teddy bear makers, lingerie makers, chocolate producers, they all want to cash-in on the hopes that we’re hopeful about the status of our relationships. With all the subtlety of a February blizzard, they remind: “We’re here if you need us; and you really do need us.” The ads are slick, mushy, thoughtful, and appeal to our happy, fuzzy weak spots.

Caring: the casual card secretly slipped into a jacket pocket, to be “discovered accidentally” and opened while caught a little off guard, a little breathless, and a little embarrassed, alone, or in the company of the thoughtful card buyer. Touching.

Naughty. Amping up the intimacy with a bit of colorful bedroom attire––lacy things, silky things, pink, red, and playful things––provocative, expensive things, designed to be worn for only an instant, and no sooner haphazardly adorning the floor next to the bed. Kinky.

Nice: dinner for two in a perfect restaurant with perfect food and perfect decor, served under perfect lighting and by a perfect wait staff. Magic.

Scrumptious: stuffing the mouth of your lover with decadent sweetness––a box of mixed chocolates, hard candies, or baked goods straight from the kitchen of your heart––to simply say, “I love you just the way you are... if not just slightly fatter.” Tasty.

Aroma therapy: perhaps perfume is your sweet pheromone charged nod to your lover’s scent, “I love the way you smell most of the time... if not just slightly better.” Smell that? That’s love.

Glitzy: jewelry is perhaps the flashiest twinkle of love and affection. And, by far, the most expensive. It’s electric. It’s turbo-charged confirmation in a felt covered, silk lined box. It’s a bold statement: no price comes close to the value of the relationship. “I love you––us––and you look amazing... if not twice as dazzling wearing this.” Breathtaking.

Love, life’s sweetest reward; set it free, and it floats back to you. Take a cruise on the love boat. Buy a Lexus. Go to Paris. These are all just perfect occasions to say the three perfect words: I love you.

And all of it a load of steaming B.S.

Like Christmas, where love is measured in an abundance of gifts and bloated credit card bills, Valentine’s Day is another chance to spend lots of money, hoping to reassure our fragile souls that other souls love us. To prove it, essentially.

It’s a gesture. And if life teaches us anything it’s this: you only get credit for the gesture. Gesture is king. A sappy card; a nice dinner; earrings; sexy underpants; or sweet nothings in a chocolate box. Commitment? No credit. Sacrifice? No credit. Choosing to love every day when it’s harder than hell? No credit. The real and meaningful things are too constant, too true––as not to be noticed, catalogued or appreciated.

The things that matter, in the end, are too vaporous, like clouds: brilliant, beautiful, and gone too soon. Nobody ever comments on a cloudy sky. People only seem to notice when the clouds are gone.

But at least we have Valentine’s Day, to keep our hopes alive, to perpetuate the belief in the fantasy––always and forever––that the fantasy of love remains even in the absence of love itself. Or worse, the utter blindness to real love right in front of our eyes, day after day, week after week, year after year.

Where’s the card for that?