I create routine: walk to work, take vitamins, jog in Bronxville, practice the Alexander Technique. I use the Crestwood library. Read Jung. Do my dishes. Go out on dates. Cook for myself. Look at the stars. Blog. Pray. Dance.
I am not ready for desire to rear its insistent head. I don't want to entertain notions or hopes. To start negotiating, dreaming, wondering.
I try to be an open window in a spare room, a swept floor, a quiet corridor. But love is like a camellia bush, blooms falling on the ground, red and open.