“I’m miss you already woman…..
My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs;
She swore, in faith ’twas strange, ’twas passing strange;
‘Twas pitiful. ’twas wondrous pitiful,
She wish’d she had not heard it, yet she wish’d
That heaven had made her such a man,
I’ll be the man, sweet brat and you my Desdemona.
Kisses sweetheart, K”
At the time I didn’t pay too much attention to the other meaning this part could hold. All I saw is Love and you wanting to be the man for me.
Desdemona – what a strange comparison.
Looking back over the years, there was no adultery, nor accusation of such but a mutilation of the truth in many ways. The last act didn’t end in death, although sometimes I wonder….
The last act simply never came since I am packed in tight, and quite neatly, conveniently in a box of willingly wrong perception and dismissed as “it is what it is – why change what works”.
Through it all I love you still. Through it all my love grew still. Through it all, I have no idea what to do with any of it – still.
Maybe one day I will..