My first thought is a good night’s sleep. With a comforter over me; self-made from T-shirts bought at forty-some American National Parks. I am reminded of hiking to waterfalls in Yosemite, or Yellowstone, or the Grand Tetons, or King’s Canyon, or Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument where a flash thunderstorm graces me with an on-the-spot waterfall where none had been that day. I was on a natural high for the rest of that day in 2017. As I was with my French boyfriend, Antoine, under a waterfall with him while in Guadaloupe just after New Year’s 2019.
Presently, Antoine is recovering from a mental breakdown just after Valentine’s Day 2019. When he acts out his anger at me while on the phone, I must shut my phone off until he is able to express his anger at his fear of feeling inferior and insecure. Not at me. Until then, I need the nourishment from writing my feelings of helplessness in my journal. From weeding my flower gardens where I plant new Petunias, Pansies, Marigolds, around the perennials of Shasta Daisies, Datura Moon Flowers, Irises and Peonies. Tulips and Daffodils. And of course, Forget-Me-Nots that roam further every year sharing their happy blues. (What a paradox) As do the Bleeding Hearts.
When I discovered a video this morning (June 6th, D-Day), created by my iPhone, of this past year’s trips with Antoine to Paris, Lyon, Versailles, Brussels, Acadia National Park, and Guadalupe, a fountain of tears washes my cheeks, missing the real and reappearing Antoine.
When will we be standing on the top of the Eiffel Tower, and Ferris Wheel of Paris, kissing again?