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   Aurora Matahari Raiment



      G. Bennett Ulrich


        I am in love with someone I have not yet met.

        I am in love with someone who has not yet met me.

        And when I hear his voice, I think I should know right then 
        who he is, 
        the other half.

        There needs to be a full half for him to come to first, 
        And if you are too busy searching you'll never be full.

        I believe I'll quit the quest and live life to the fullest, 
        Is it OK if I merely keep my eyes open?

        Everyone wants the best that they can get, 
        Whether it comes before or after their wedding day. 
        No one ever shuts their eyes, except to die, but they may squint 
        a little to keep the blinding light of "What if" 
        from burning out their eyes.

        I think when I give my heart, I will not look away. 
        I want one man to cherish and he will make me stay.

        Even in the face of "The One?" 
        Aren't you just saying you'll settle 
        for Mr. Right-Now until Mr. Right comes along? Well, 
        maybe he has, and you just don't know it because 
        you'll never close your eyes.

        I don't like to imagine that I would settle for anything-- 
        Maybe you are right...Now, Mister. 
        So, will I drop your friendship like a sack of kittens in a well 
        when (or if) he, "The One," should suddenly appear?

        The question is not whether you will drop the friendship for the man, but whether 
        you will let the friend woo you as a man.

        You're not a man--I mean, you are a Man, in every sense of the word, but not 
        "The" man. Wouldn't I know already? And the word "wooed" 
        leaves me feeling ill, lurid thoughts of past suitors "wooing" other girls...

        That's just it, you seem to have settled upon this "I'll know him when I see him" 
        notion long ago--and so you stopped actively looking for compatibility 
        and mutual respect as traits of One-ness.  You have blind faith 
        that this perfect stranger will walk up to you and say, "Aren't you my wife?" 
        When you leave the real guy standing at the altar making excuses to all your guests.

        I was trying to change the subject, 
        my way of thinking makes it simple--there's not a lot of work on my part, no risk, 
        see the simplicity?  100% or nothing, 
        I am burnt from this "Let's try building and working" toaster of relations. 
        Do you believe that Mr. Perfection is going to ring my doorbell, and say, 
        "Excuse me, but I love you--I found you from a dream." 
        Only in fairy tales and Brendan Fraser films does that ever happen, and 
        I'm not lucky enough to wake up Disney.

        If mothers looked for perfect sons they'd curse out all their daughters-- 
        if sailors sought out perfect shores, they'd despise the ocean waters. 
        Blackjack dealers would play to bust or make their twenty-one-- 
        so why must you play roulette with a fully loaded gun?

        I'm not emotionally mature enough to handle "The One." 
        I'm buying some time.  I'm pretending to pine!  Ask any man 
        who's served as my canoe, 
        if I didn't stand and flail about and scream, "Oh, what to do!" 
        I'd flip the boat and swim away to leave it sinking fast.

        That's quite a legacy you've amassed, 
        well, I can swim--I know the stroke, I can splash about. 
        So I will settle for this game--I'm too much the eager lout.

        Do you strive to match my stroke? 
        Or hurry to some other shore? 
        Your forestay's twisted from the mast, 
        and sails discolored from your past.

        I am your match, don't you see? 
        Why don't you just cling to me?

        I'm not the clinging type--and what is all this match-made hype? 
        If we were a book of flaming sticks, would I continue to resist?

        You would, and do--but 
        that is hardly news to you.

        Right...and so, I'd like to know, where do you think this will ever go?

        I like the place it's at right now 
        --that place that's filled with "Great!" and "Wow!" 
        What's the rush to label time, 
        it's harmony that makes the rhyme. 
        Stop and sing with me 
        and joy will bring us to the sea.

        I like the salt. I crave the sand, but think I'd rather stay inland.

        You may try to run from passion's tide, 
        but it affords no place to hide. 
        Face its force full on and see 
        if you can swim around with me.

        What if I'm not in the mood for getting wet?  Maybe I'd like to go climb 
        in the mountains, crunching on an apple and savoring the pages of some mystery.


        There is no greater mystery than Love, and apples were sent to test our will. 
        I think of sin--it gives me chills, but comfort comes from high above. 
        The raft of joy on sea of bliss 
            was shown to me, and shown as this: 
                Give yourself a chance to care 
                    and joy will take you everywhere.

        You will not give up!  I am not Eve though you seem as complex as an Atom-- 
        and as simple--three parts I see: 
        at your nucleus is Love, but Logic and Desire 
        spin around your core causing friction and static in your brain. 
        Your tunnel-vision principles seem direly insane.

        It is you who will not give up.  You speak to me of what you need.  And yet we still 
        stand here and bleed.  We all want fantasy romance, but don't discard your first 
        real chance. If it don't work out then hey!  At least we tried, so who's to say?

        I don't want to try. 
        I have four years until I am as mature as you are, and I can throw fits, or quit, 
        I don't have to pull down my pants and show you my logic.  I don't want to debate 
        the matter of why I don't want to, the fact that we are having this conversation 
        says something about who we are, don't you think? 
        I intertwine passionately where there is chemistry, 
        you and I have chemistry, but a different kind. 
        That childhood brand of kool-aid stain chemistry.  I could tell you anything, 
        I just don't need to say it two inches away.

        You underestimate yourself.  And overestimate me. I think that we are much more 
        in synch. 
        We like to play. 
        What's more to say?

        You right, we do, and are the same, 
        but no love I've known starts out with games. 


Reprinted with permission of authors 

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