I think I have been unfaithful to my gift. It’s really been a long time since I sat down and actually took time to cultivate and nurture it. I have spent too much time indulging and concentrating on other things and I have abandoned her.
She is not happy: I know this because when I was still a good partner, she was uncontrollably jovial and would, without hesitation, jump at me without occasion; almost tackling me to the ground, like a hungry lion on the tail of a wildebeest in the Serengeti. She had this glow about her and when she opened her mouth to speak, milk and honey flowed out.
It was captivating: she had this charismatic vibe to her; at any one point when she was ready to bare her soul, you couldn’t help but drop everything and give her your attention. Talk about having a hold on you.
She was always, and I guess she still is, very open with me. I always got the juiciest of stuff from her; the kind of scoops that Perry White would kill for [If you don’t know who this is, then what are you watching?] It is the kind of stuff that reporters and writers compromise their integrity for; the kind that in no way could be obtained legally; like the original painting of the Mona Lisa or shots of Barbra Gordon in the bat girl suit at comic con. She only gave me the best; beautiful masterpieces that by far surpassed even my greatest expectations. The kind of creations that every author dreams of, that Shakespeare, upon hearing, would cuss while turning in his grave for not having thought of such in the first place.
I have had with me the very best that any person in the literary arts could have searched or hoped for, but I have taken her for granted. I have denied her quality time and no longer get intimate with her; I no longer tell her how amazing she is, despite my seeing it every day; I don’t even listen to her anymore.
Damn it!! I have hurt her
I feel the pain she goes through and see how bad a toll it has taken on her. She stopped singing and no longer wants to listen to music. Even her dressing has changed; I am told that she has burned all her summer dresses and given away all her party shoes. Right now, all she does is walk around the house in an oversized construction T-shirt. She sits around all day, eating ice cream, and perfecting her aim by throwing knives at the portrait of Stewie Griffin that hangs in our living room.
But you know what?
I have come to my senses. I’m going back to her, to apologize to her in the hope that she will take me back and give me another chance; a chance to make it right with her; to prove to her that I do value and care for her more than anything in this world.
I am no longer just going to say how I feel but show it too. I will make her a nice diner, buy a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc (it’s her favorite), some Swiss chocolate, 200 long stem roses (the sight of roses causes her eyes to light up) and call in that favor that Anthony Hamilton owes me. I plan to lay my heart bare and vulnerable before her and hope that she will take it back.
I did her wrong; I just hope my transgression is not beyond penance