...the first words in an anonymous review of Verbal Intercourse, a brief acrostic poem complaining about the poet's desire for more in her marriage relationship.
It is apropos.
It could be the subtitle for a memoir on my relationships.
"I was expecting more..."
Yet, life keeps running ahead of us and the sands of time melt under our feet like the beach under the wash of the sea.
So, we struggle to connect. We struggle to carve out time face-to-face.
Then, we struggle to understand each other while we try desperately to be understood.
If only, I could hold my breath long enough to hear yours, dear...
Maybe, if I was listening to your inspiration I'd hear your dreams and feel the connection I long for.
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