Three

My first love had the middle name Grace;

she danced and sang, naive to the grey nature of the world I had already

come to find.

I broke her heart, and I have never forgiven myself--for her soul was never worthy of such a thing.

My second love had the middle name Grace;

she brooded and rebelled; we did it together. We fought the ugly world which we both thought we knew--but ended up waging war on only each other.

She tried to break my heart, but I was already under the protection of a numb sheet of ice.

My third love has the middle name Grace;

We met and have come to live together by such high chance and coincidence--yet the greatest of all might be this amazing pattern. When she revealed her middle name to me, my jaw made good friends with the floor; and while I have been called to Europe for the remainder of the year and she remains in California, my romantic heart remains ripe with fairy tale wonder. Her eyes shine blue and green like the sea of the central coast--and her optimism and maturity infect me, forging me into a better person. Life remains a mystery, and I don't pretend to understand it: I just follow its directions.