Cookies in the mail

Dip and keep 6-10 seconds in cold milk while daydreaming.
Pull it out (of the milk), then rest the dipped part on your tongue.
Let the buttered cookie with chocolate filling melt as you savor the decadent yet cheap Keebler sandwich cookie.
Enjoy...

“Check your po box,” his last entry of today says, before I signed off.

Late Monday night, during my topsy-turvy emotional stroll in my worry garden, I wrote “Lost Heaven” and published it here. Tuesday morning while engaged on one-to-one, I told my friend-slash-lover to check my new entry. He did. After about 3 minutes of idle time for me, he messaged me his quick comment. Without quoting him (some things I don’t like to remember), as swift as his disheartened comment the door slammed and he was …. Pooof…… gone - out of my real-time AIM chat. I didn’t see him for the rest of the day - a display of niggle, I correctly assumed – as he deviated from our habitual locking of thoughts and keys through our ever reliable way of connection and relation.

Two days of dialogue exchange reminiscent of a lover’s spat in a soap opera were disconcerting and bewildering to two people who once shared a sexual agenda. We resolved the friction nonetheless. “I freaked out… I’m glad we’re still on track, babe” he wrote in his email.

Needless to say, lovers, friends, confidants, and soul searchers, back as we are.

I did what I was told; went to the post office and found a parcel waiting for me to claim. I waited ‘til I got home to open the impractical box my item(s) were cased as I yanked and twisted the cardboard just to get it to tear. I finally uncluttered my mailed objects through wrappings of old newspapers like some precious and fragile possessions, only to find yet the sweetest, most thoughtful aide-memoire - not in written form or fancy souvenir - only a thinking loved one would give me. My lover, who is 500 miles far-away, bought, wrapped, and paid the 6-dollar-something postage stamp only to send me my favorite snack of all – E.L. Fudges!

Original
Butter Flavored
Sandwich Cookies with Fudge Creme Filling
E.L.Fudge® Eating is Believing®

Lost Heaven

I feel I have lost the capacity to write the verses that not too long ago would just be spewed out of my breath. For about three months now, I have floated, raised up in the air to smell, take in deep fresh breaths of optimism and faith. Something magical lifted me up. Love sent me to the heavens.

The seventh heaven. Can it get any higher? This is where I ought to stay; this place I wish to belong. The gladness of being completely inspired and moved by genuine, human love gets so incomprehensible that most of the time we doubt its existence. It inhabits every human being. Yet a lot of us are wary of accepting it. And why shouldn’t we be? Is it maybe because the moment we found our true love we realize that a more fortunate being has a claim to it, guards it, and is the sole keeper of his heart?

I wish I could just pick love as I would pick a number - a favorite one. Some people say we choose who we love. Do we really? I chose. And chose. And chose. But was I ever successful in keeping my all-time favorite number? Finally, I chose not to choose. I didn’t wait. I just sat there watching the world go by, minding my own business and living the predictable life and period I placed myself in.

Then one day it suddenly fell on my lap. Without searching, and without a list of numbers to select, my favorite number showed up.

I started my travel upwards to the skies. Exactly three months ago my heart rose with wings that carried me up, first to the hills of excitement, then easily soaring the mountains of newfound bliss. As I reached these refreshing peaks of pleasure, I felt as whole again as I respired his scent of love and undivided attention. The bright blue skies were so overwhelming he offered me the shade of his awning to comfort and protect my sensitized feelings. Until one day, the rays of the iniquitous sun took my sight as well as my breath away…

Now I feel like I am starting to fall; back to the solid ground I have been standing on three months ago. The sack of heavy defeat falls on my back and I need to carry it. As I travel back to earth, I accept the significant burden. And as hard as I try to raise myself up to the posture of pride and dignity, this weight bears me down, my head bowing, my eyes watching the ground underneath the once blue skies now turned grey. Tears swell up my desolate eyes as streams fall down the ground below like heavy rainfall from a miserable storm.

Not too long ago I reached the 7th heaven where I rested and floated on cloud nine. There I felt his love for a moment; was gladdened by it and renewed by its unsurpassed emotion. But once again, I descended, felled with a heavy thump. With sack on my back, I walk defeated, failed and with lost hope, I am alone and without love.