Friday, July 27, 2007


…from myself, as much as I am able, so I’m mingling with other earthlings who are essentially doing the same thing. I’m trying to distance myself from my self, not easy, can’t really do it for too long at a stretch, the strain of inter-acting with others, I chuckle-sigh, is more than I can bear; solitude bids me home, where I would go if I had one, but where one lives is not necessarily home.

If home is where the heart is I would be…in The Plaka with Linda, then, when we were young and in love. You were so pretty My Dear, o how I loved you…being anywhere with you, doing anything, was a constant source of amazement…whether running in the rain…sitting together at midnight on The Acropolis…eating at Baba Stavros…and the little room we lived in, 23 Pan Street, Athens c/o The Plaka, was more home than any I’ve had since…and that old man delivering yogurt and bread to us on Christmas Day was the best meal I ever ate…and I can still hear your sweet voice one early morning telling me, “I will always love you, I will never leave you…”

It wasn’t to be, no, through no fault of yours. O my aching broken heart yearns for you still Linda! I realize how much trouble I caused you and I’m sorry for all of it and for not being there when I should have been. Losing you and our little family of four was the worst thing I ever did. You were not to blame and no other success I ever had compensated for my failure in our home.

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