Lunch with Ricardo

I met my old friend Ricardo

in a café the other day.

I’d wandered down the street

after I’d gotten a bite to eat.

I suddenly craved tea and being

the type who refuses to deny my cravings,

I wandered into this little café.

I chose a seat way in the back

as Fate would have it

that’s where he was sitting too.

Startled, I stared openly.

I thought you had died, I told him.

He just smiled. No, he replied, you

wanted to believe I had died. There’s

a difference between the two.

Deep down inside you’ve always known

I never could really die. How can what’s

real, truly real, ever die?

Before long, I felt tears welling in my eyes.

How did you end up here, I asked.

I’ve been here all along, he assured me.

We talked for hours, Ricardo and I

He told me about the love of his life and

I told him about mine.

Ricardo told me, Most people believe

my third wife was the one I loved the most,

the one my soul longed to create life

with.

Those people are wrong. The one I loved

most belonged to another. Or rather she chose

to love another. I was poor and she desired

riches beyond the riches of heart.

Tears glistened in his eyes as he told how

he spent years trying to unlove her. You know,

he said, you don’t choose who your soul falls

in love with. And my soul chose her. My soul

loves her.

I wrote some of the saddest lines in my life as

those days stretched on like an endless night

void of stars and moonlight.

He spoke of nights where he was tortured by

hearing the voice of his one true love. She only

visited me at night while I slept. Sometimes

I slept for days at a time.

It was all I had left, just the sound of her voice

and knowing I’d never be able to hold her again

in my arms; I could only hold her in my memory.

That knowledge began a special kind of dying

even though I went on to live half a century more.

Why are you telling me this Ricardo? I cannot fix

your broken heart when my own heart has been

stitched back together so many times. My heart

is a piecemeal quilt of emotions and I’m always

afraid it’ll completely come undone at the seams.

When he fell into my arms, I must admit

I’d been expecting it. I’d always known Love

owned a piece of my soul but like Ricardo

I was prepared to live with only the voice

of my love to hold onto.

I know the truth that our soul loves who it

chooses, but sometimes the soul and body

have separate wishes, dreams and desires.

Ricardo and I spent the rest of our time in silence.

No words were needed in the presence of Love.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind