kite

Her patience is wearing thin like the pages in my notebook, and I can recall when everything was clean and new, unmarked by my faults and inadequacies. A picture was painted, she painted a portrait of me and now the colors are running, a stained canvas. Does she still recognize the man from our first encounter on that cold night in December? Or have I become a friendly stranger? A long lost friend, barely recognizable?
Earlier today I saw several children flying a kite in the afternoon breeze. The kite darted and dove as the children playfully struggled to keep it aloft. After much fanfare the kite crashed and the kids hurriedly raced to the crash site.
The Forces of the Cosmos had won but the children were undeterred and soon the kite was soaring again, higher than before. The children gazed heavenward, their faces glowing with accomplishment. Beautiful.
Are those Forces -- the same Forces which brought L and me together -- slowly tearing us apart? Or is the paint on my hands? Have I -- and I alone -- smeared that December portrait?
There is nothing left to conceal now. No brush strokes will hide the cracks of my personality -- I stand naked. What horrid portrait would L paint now if brush, colors and canvas were at hand?
Is it possible for us to return to the crash site, examine the wreckage (wreckage stained with my fingerprints), collect the pieces and soar again?
I love you, Panda Bear.

mc