serendipity

A few days ago, a friend said she was having a great day.  Everything was serendipity; it appeared that no matter what needed doing, it would happen in a most excellent way.  And as each event confirmed this belief, her confidence grew.  When she accidently knocked over a portable heater, I murmured well, maybe not everything...

"No," she insisted. "See?  It didn't catch on fire!  It didn't break!"

I laughed, and agreed.

"But why can't this be all the time?" she said.

I was in a poetic/pontifical mood.  It can, I said.  Become a lover with serendipity.  Then, even when you're not living together, you will yearn for the other, have the qualities of the other, you will want to hang out together more and more.

"Hey, you're good," she said.

But, as is usual these days, I was also talking to myself, and when finished not quite sure what I was talking about.  Days past, with a flesh-and-blood lover?  Or now, except that my lover is:  Grief, First Name; Loneliness, Surname.  And Rich is this lover's middle name, wrapped in the midst of first and last.

I don't want to leave this lover.  I do want to learn how to live with what is tearing off piece after piece of me, breaking and catching fire.  

Candace