It is possible to love the gift after the love is gone. Kevin sent me this CD because he knew I would appreciate it. I do. Whenever we stayed out in bucolic Bridgehampton, he used to practice classical guitar in his living room while I read or wrote in my journal. Those quiet afternoons still resonate. This song, The Last Tremolo (not the actual title, but called that because it was Barrios' last tremolo piece,) reminds me of that relationship -- effortful, sweet, sad, and final. You, my friends, wondered why I stayed with him for five years when he always kept me at arms' length. This is why: He wanted to love me. He went through the motions in some hopeless desire to behave "as if" he loved me. It never worked, but I honored the attempt. Man, that was a lot of work ... for both of us. So, this morning, as I sit curled up on the sofa with my morning coffee, listening to the CD he mailed to me long after we broke up, Music of Barrios, David Russell, Guitar, I realize with deep gratitude that I no longer have any loving feelings left for this particular man or any of those men who came before him. Nor do I resent them. Here I sit, warm and cozy on a cold rainy morning, the smell of nearly-done corn bread wafting down from the kitchen, listening to gifted music. I am at peace with all of my former lovers, David, Mark, Dan, and the others. Goodbye. My work is done here. The roiling emotion is gone. It was lovely, but I'm so glad to be on my own. (The last line in appreciation for Joni Mitchell.)
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