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Miss Demure Restraint’s Journal
Written in late December 2007 or early January 2008
I honestly don’t remember.

What words would ever be adequate to describe Luke? Brilliant comes to mind. I mean that in the way you refer to a great artist or notable intellect. He has both in him. And as with all remarkable people known and unknown, he isn’t like everybody else. He is a mad man. His “insanity” is part of his charm (for me anyway). However, it also drives him to constant motion across the geography of the world and his life. He is truly an unbound spirit. Strictly as a personality, I admire him greatly and enjoy his company immensely.

We met and the chemistry was explosive. It certainly wasn’t like anything I had experience before. The physical connection was mind-blowing and more than a little scary. It was intense on a level I had never imagined. There is no ladylike way to say this, so . . . the sex seemed the best on the planet, maybe in the universe! He truly rocked my world in a very real sense.

Have you ever met someone and known them, I mean, really known them from the first moments? Has there ever been a person in your life that moved you both physically and spiritually? He was both for me. In the cosmic consciousness, I believe we have combined and come apart an infinity of times. We shared such unusual things. I’m sure he and I have met and will meet again through our repeating cycles of existence. We both knew it from the start. We have been doing this over and over and over. The connection is too pronounced. The physical bond so totally natural and effortless, it can only be explained in that we have been together before. Further, my sense of what was coming was much too strong.

Luke gave me a gift that I will forever love him for. He put me back in touch with my artistic muses. I don’t know if it was just being in the presence of his aura (he does broadcast an amazing energy) or if it was the completing of the restoration of my sensual self, but that part of me that was holding captive all my creative potential released. He helped me find again that part of myself that I have always loved best. Now that I have it back I will guard, nurture, and cherish it. (If I never told you, Babe, thanks.) I wrote two pieces very specifically for him. Both were prophetic. The first was a “letter” and the second a poem.

It seemed from the beginning, one, the other or both of us were hell bent on torpedoing any possibility of a relationship. I freaked out after the first night we were together. We were supposed to meet the next day, but I was so shaken I canceled. I figured that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t. He called on a Sunday evening a week or two later and I didn’t say no. We spent two amazing days together. That is when I knew without doubt that we had been together before. It was effortless. We had a blast.

After that it was the most off and on thing I could imagine. Basically, we would grow distant during the week. He had his angst and I had my job. We were both seeing other people, too. Still somehow we would end up together at least one night each weekend. During this time, I started writing again. I was working on a narration based on what I was feeling at the time. It was dark and pessimistic. I had finished it, but had no title for it. I got my title when I checked his blog site and he had made a posting a few days before. It was titled “Letter to my best friend.” Basically, it talked about dumping me (and somebody else) in his tormented attempt to maintain his sanity . . . women and writing being the bane of his existence. It took me a couple of days to get set up, but Letter to My Almost Perfect Lover was my first posting for Miss Demure Restraint’s Weblog.

So with both of our declarations posted for the world and each other to see, I stopped to pick something up from his apartment. It was fully my intent that it would be the last time I would see him. It didn’t work out that way and yet it did. We spent nine consecutive unbelievable days together in a world of our own and then we stopped seeing each other. I wrote the poem the morning after what would turned out to be our Last Night together. I didn’t know when I wrote it that it was to be so prophetic.

It was true. I had “sadly” watched him sleep that last night and was almost overwhelmed by the fact that I didn’t know why it hurt so. The next evening it was over. If art imitates life, then what is it when art predicts life? I knew because we have done this many times before, enough for me to feel it coming even when I had no reason to expect it.

Ours was never intended to be a relationship. At this moment in time, I doubt I will see Luke again in this life. I know at the deepest roots of my being, that is not the end for us. We are destined to keep colliding with one another for good or ill. I do know in this life, he has been a spiritual teacher, a catalyst, not a fixture. Everything is just exactly as it should be.

Draw what conclusions you will. It was one of the most remarkable chapters in my life. For now, that’s my tormented, anguished, brooding beatnik.

Is it ending?
Can it be over just that fast?
Is it loving?
Where the hope it might last?

I think he’s found another lover
No woman, nothing so low
He goes to a place I cannot follow
So once again, I am alone

His embrace not there to warm me
His life I do not know
His heart does draw away from me
So painfully, so slow

My sadness overwhelms me
Still my age-old fears subside
My release to him of all of me
Once more withdraws inside

Tis bittersweet my aching
How do I say goodbye?
Truly how long do we carry on
Before its all a lie?

Another hard lesson from my buddy . . . life. It would seem I have got to make some choices. It had been my intent to start a second blog of my journals, postings longer than I like to do here. I went so far as to set up the site. The plan was to spend my recovery time after surgery writing in general and specifically organizing the journals to make them ready for posting. Swing and a miss. I’m not sure what I was thinking. I know I can’t write under medication. I should have known that script is script, whether it be pain meds or bipolar meds.

I still thought I might manage it once I got my feet back under me, but then the unexpected happened. I seemed to have found the fulfillment of one of my other dreams. I meet a man and we are in love. No big surprise to any that have read this blog in the last couple of months. My God, I was a dribbling idiot for awhile. Its all good, at least I was writing something.

So now between working ten hours shifts, trying to maintain some kind of workout schedule, practice my yoga, make somewhat regular posts here, keep my house so that my OCD doesn’t manifest, write in my journals, participate in a couple of writing projects with others, pursue some spiritual growth, spend time with my love and do the other thousand things I have in my life, I have to be honest and admit I do not have time for another blog.

I admit a certain sadness, but I am so very blessed in my life at the moment that this is nothing. I could just leave it out there dormant until something changed or I found time. Still, there is something heartbreaking about that empty blog sitting with nothing but the mention that someone hopes to get to it someday. So, I’ve decided to delete it.

As with all things though, there’s a flip side. I don’t have to give it up completely. I have several entries ready that aren’t so long that I can’t post them here. I’m sure in the future there will be more. So I say both farewell and hello to Miss Demure Restraint’s Journal.

What are you waiting for?
Why do you stay?
You choose to be victim
With each passing day

Numb is not alive
Waiting does not fulfill.
No one else can save you
No one ever will.

I too know how it hurts
I too live through that pain
Still I have come to know the truth
My soul, the price to remain

No matter how it feels
In our plight we’re not alone
Why we think we need to suffer
Only to ourselves must we atone

Rare and fragile bird
It is surely death to stay
You need not be a victim
Don’t think, just fly away

Waiting is pain
Struggle past tears

Brooding is angst
Suppression of fears

Feeling is risk
Contained sad emotion

Caring is lost
In life’s mad commotion

Losing all hope
There is no returning

No love for real
Hard lesson she’s learning

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July 2008