Table of Contents: So my readers won't increase the bounce rate c:
- Venusian Daze
- Choking scene
- January 23
- Crushed petals | Atonement
- Mr. Madsen
I made this blog just for you. I wanted to collect all the happy, fragile moments I had. Not to show off. But to create a portrait of what life is like when Saturn isn't too cold and unforgiving. Thank you for the gifts and collaboration I had from Europe and the US. I didn't think a smaller blog like mine would reach any company at all. Thank you, Venus. For looking out for me.
You're the only one who understands me and my love language: Gratitude. Whenever I say thank you, it is never just out of politeness. Wrapped inside it is how I say I love you (platonically or otherwise) and I care. I never say it lightly.
My husband is probably the perfect embodiment of you in male form. He had a lot daze dancing with you. Decades actually. And that's why it's so hard to listen to some eighties music sometimes. Except for "Everybody Wants To Rule The World." That one will always be a favorite and untainted.
I know you crafted that scene when I was nearly choking in front of him. I don't know why my allergies decided to flare up at that moment. I held my neck. Clasped it with my Star-Gate-inspired nails. And my face was all a distorted mess. I didn't want to cough on R. I didn't want him to get sick. I don't know why R looked thrilled. I was trying to be polite, not seductive o: Anyway, I doubled down, and well you know the rest.
I think my aunt and uncle in Bordeaux are gonna be in for another shock. Because I don't want them to greet me with " happy birthday" on December 26th anymore. Because I'm gonna celebrate my birthday on January 23 from now on. If Nicolas can do it for Nicole, I can do it for Richard. Haha! My guy friends would make fun of me for years, saying, "Saint Nicolas delivered me late and forgot about me on Christmas day - so he delivered me late." Well, no one's gonna fucking say that to me anymore because my new birthday is January 23. I would still be half ruled by Saturn.
O Venus, cloaked in celestial pulchritude and divine symmetry, please hear my small prayer:
I forgot who said it, but they said, "Forgiveness is a flower with its petals being crushed. It only gives off the sweetest fragrance." Won't you please tell R that I forgive him for all the ghosts in his past that surface when the veil thins? I chose him. And only him. I hope he forgives me too for carrying ghosts with me for far too long. I think the gods favor my husband. He embodies Zeus Xenios. He protects the vulnerable. You are his patron. So I think you will grant this fervent wish. I think the gods will grant him longevity. He will live until he's 120 and then what's waiting after is Paradise inside the Elysian Fields.
Mr. Madsen was my favorite world history teacher I ever had in high school. I can't believe he died from cancer while I was blooming in college. And now I feel guilty that it happened while I found a new favorite teacher, Professor Avery. I think Hermes delivered that message to me a decade later because I would've been crushed and reverted back to having anxiety and depression if I had heard it when I was 21. I guess that's Zeus operating on divine timing (Kairos), not Chronos. I sorely miss him. I didn't get to make him proud. I didn't get to tell him that I'm now the team lead for history in my department. I didn't get to tell him how important he was to me. And how he was the first person I ever looked up to. And I didn't get to tell him that I went to Europe to visit my family. Europe is his favorite continent. And I didn't have enough time to tell him how much I like the Byzantine Empire, too. I thought I was just another A+ student in his class, but now I remember him complimenting how cute my illustrations are and how much detail I poured into all of his assignments. I miss him and his blinding white hair and kind eyes.
I tie him to you, Venus. Because he was a beautiful soul. He transcends the linear mortal plane, and now he's eternal. Like you. I will always remember him this way. I thought he was enchanted. I thought he would live forever.
P.S. Can you please let Uncle Guillaume know that my Richard is better than the CEO Richard (his neighbor) in Bordeaux? And I didn’t like how he called me a « king » during the French dinner rehearsal. Just because I didn’t eat the shrimp sensually by sucking the heads off (I used a fork and a knife to take off the shell) doesn’t mean he can throw one of those thinly veiled bless-your-heart insults at me. And My Richard is older than any of the men in that little CEO Fontainebleaux complex. And he’s older than any wine in Bordeaux. So take that Uncle Guillaume! Still love you, but you’re still Palpatine, and I’m still Vader.
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