Although it’s still hot outside, August’s exit ushers in change. Interesting, as I write this, I’m listening to B.B. sing The Thrill Is Gone — how appropriate: You know I'm free, free now baby… I'm free from your spell… And now that it's over… All I can do is wish you well… August, I do wish you well; as a metaphor for what has been, it was no thrill. But soon she’ll be here, my place her place, my life her life — our new life. 

Ozzie is singing I'm Coming Home. Funny, this place, home, is now nearly empty. All that remains is a couch, a teak table, a bureau, a bookcase, a rocking chair, and my bed. The walls are stripped of pictures — paintings. Soon there will be new paint, new carpets, and new windows. A moving van will deliver your possessions. We will unpack. The twenty years I spent here will vacate into innocuous memories. That’s okay. The memories we now share are but a taste of what’s to come. I've got a hundred million things to show you and many more to see from you.

Still there is a distance. Next thursday I'll be in the sky bridging that distance. Yes, I printed out my Delta boarding pass; you know, I could fly to you without wings. That’s how I am now, I’m no longer bound by the restraints of loneliness. I trust in you. I trust in me. Together we’ll travel back to this place I call home, now our home. My life… your life… our new life. I no longer sing for someone to conquer me. You have.

Outside I hear a lawnmower. I can’t hear the river you love. That’s okay. Rain will come and replenish the Hockanum’s brown waters; a hurricane is to pass by New England on its way northeast to the Maritimes. I know that in a previous life, you vacationed in Nova Scotia; I never have, but in a previous life, 1991, I weathered a hurricane worrying about a wife who didn’t love me. I now love you. You love me. I don’t fear this love.

Listen... The Velvet Underground's Sweet Jane is playing in the background. Heavenly wine and roses, seems to whisper to her when he smiles... Your smile melts me. And when September is heavy with days, I’ll hear you playing your piano, singing your songs, and I’ll be in heaven. Music is intrinsic to my soul. My fingers will ache for a guitar to accompany you with. We’ll compose together, we’ll understand, we’ll live not lost in each other, but found within each other. My life… your life… our new life.

Some men at 55 give up on life. I gave up earlier than that — 36, 42, 48? I never thought I’d experience the sunshine again, but I have, but I am. Rock bottom has become my foundation. For the first time in my life, I’m strong enough to be myself and that is enough for you as I offer you my life, you offer me your life and we begin our new life.