Last night, I cried hard. I sat on my bed and I tried to not let it erupt, and like the volcanoes of ages, I exploded my sorrow onto my cheeks and chin, my new blue sheets, my frown burrowing in itself. Dunkin' is alive in my mind, his face, his ki8ses, his care and presence. Even now, typing this, my eyes sting, they water, they release this longing.
Some people do not know longing. They cannot concieve what this is. I feel those humans are truly lucky. Perhaps they cannot love like most human do, but, they also will never know what this pain feels like.
Is it worth the cost?
The opportunity to have felt Dunkin's love is worth everything to me only because I know what it meant to me. If I had a choice to not understand love and hence never experience pain, I guess I would be super human, or a realized buddhist.
I think it's all a bunch of good philosphizing. My truth are my tears, my buzzing left body, my salty trails.
I have pushed on, and I have my art in Manhattan being exhibited as we speak. Yes, there is a pet in the painting. No, it is not Dunkin. Not this time. Out of 300 artists who were chose, only 7 were chosed to be exhibited in a NoHo Starbucks. Mine is one of the 7.
Starbucks on Boradway at Bond. Bond... my favorited street in Manhattan. Dunkin' and I used to walk it all the time, just to see the art store. He once shopped on his own there. Oh, my little angel, I would have brought you to the starbucks for a pic under my painting, Dunkin. I would have brought you to the reception as well. I would have... if you were here.