was the first time in months I didn’t sleep with the AC on. The rain was performing in the night air and demanded to be noticed. With the overhead fan on and the sound of the rain and wind, I opened my window and fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke, the rain had stopped its show, and I lay there, very early—another thing I hadn’t done in months—and just reflected. Reflected on the day ahead. The week ahead. The semester ahead. My plans of travel and the long weekend. And a certain breeze not only passed through my window but through my body. It felt like breath.

I’m not a morning person. I like the nights. I like staying up late when the cars stop roaring and the stars come out. I like to sit with a good TV series and then climb up to bed to meet my latest book characters and forget who I am for a little while, let the responsibilities of life fade into the background of “that can wait,” before I take my ride with Morpheus, where dreams are unencumbered by expectation, and where I have no control of what happens there. It feels like freedom, even if only for that one second before I slip and enter the world I won’t likely remember but know anything is possible.

I’d forgotten how wonderful the morning is. How quiet it is then too, before the bustle starts and the stress kicks in and the noise takes over. It’s a perfect time to write. To meditate. And spend time in the moment. And in this moment, I saw the trees, still wet from the night’s spectacle, but the leaves blowing gently against each other in harmony, a couple of big oaks seemingly in love. Within the leaves I stared, and like that old Magic Eye book or when I stare for long periods of time at the clouds, I saw a kiss in those leaves, a face I wanted to capture—a side profile of eyes, a nose, hair blowing back, and lips, lips kissing the leaves next to it. I thought to myself, I’m just seeing things, and yet, still, I wanted to get my phone and snap a picture to prove it to you, to see if you saw it too, to show you how real it was, the trees in an embrace, kissing one another.

But I stopped myself. This was my moment, what I felt and saw and knew was real. And I realized, it didn’t matter who believed me or who might have seen it too or who thought I was foolish. It was my waking dream, whether fabricated or not: Those leaves loved each other. And I realized: Isn’t that all any of us want? To be kissed? In the morning when no one else knows, when the only thing that matters is that we know we were kissed, that we know: We are loved.  And that’s what being alive feels like, the gift of morning. And I'm happy for it.

In case you don't follow me on social media and missed my Facebook post, I'm sharing it here as well...
Out of the blue, I lost my best friend and PA. I'm not sure where I'll go from here...

It’s taken me a day to get over the shock of my beautiful friend and PA’s death and write something myself. I’m still in shock. Words just can’t express the overwhelming sadness I feel. 

Mandi Calder was not only my PA, she was my sister by choice. There wasn’t a day we didn’t speak, except for rare vacations or days where we’d shut down to recharge. She did so much for me as a PA—just because she wanted to, not because she had to. She shared my work daily into groups before I’d even be out of bed, she ran the NuR Twitter feed, and she found the most beautiful ballet images for me. She had my back. She was my springboard for ideas. She kept me organized. She let me vent. She made me laugh. She made me feel special. But mostly, she kept me from not giving up. Her motto was always: “Positive thinking, hunni,” especially when I needed to hear it most. That was her. Without thought or obligation. She was just…kind. And giving…and smart! God. She was so smart. And I can say that we told each other we loved each other often. For that, I have no regrets. She knew. And I knew.
I hear her now. As I write this. “Positive thinking…” And I’m really trying to listen. It’s just almost impossible to wrap my mind around the idea that she’s gone. That she was taken from us so young. And I don’t think I can make sense of it. Not now. Maybe not ever. So if I’m quiet for a while, it’s because I don’t know of any other way to be. Even my tears are quiet. I keep wondering if they’ll stop. And I’m not sure, exactly, how I see my future here or in the writing or publishing community without her. She’s been with me from the start. I've never known a writing life without her.

She was and IS a beautiful soul. So I’ll remember that. I’ll feel that. I’ll feel her soul. And let it guide me, bit by bit. Day by day. Because a soul like hers, doesn’t die.

Have you heard people use the term “love of my life”? Have you used it? And what is it really? What constitutes using that phrase? Can it happen more than once and therefore, an overused, trite phrase? Is it really “love of my life right now”? Or worse, do you only know that because it was someone you let get away? Someone you wish you hadn’t? Or have you yet to meet the “love of your life,” and are you still waiting?

To me, this means someone you love wholly. Someone you don’t want to change, and someone who doesn’t want to change you in any way. It’s that someone who fulfills you--emotionally, sexually, intellectually. That person who makes you laugh. Who “gets” you. Who finds you beautiful even when you know you’re not. It’s acceptance. It’s that someone who makes you love yourself, even when it’s very hard to do. It’s someone who looks into you, at your scars, both figuratively and literally, and loves you anyway. And it’s symbiotic.

To me, it doesn’t mean a perfect love or a love that is superficial. It is deep, fulfilling. It is a love that challenges you on occasion. A love that is passionate. A love that transcends anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s poetry really. It’s beauty but not in a physical sense. Not at all. It’s about souls connecting in another dimension of living. It makes you feel as if you weren’t living before. And it’s never jealous.
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Is this “love of my life” real? Fleeting? Just another romantic fantasy? For those of us who have been there, it’s the very reason for existence. 

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
E.E. Cummings