I was a wore and torn man, receded into the whiskey bottles and the dead-end dreams. I sang lullabies of thing lost and could not be found no-more.
A delicate and fragile woman told me. What eludes our hands and fingers. What we denied ourselves are the misfortune of a foolish man.
The existence of love and happiness are the corridors we must cross and bare. We must break the shackles of old disappointment and sadness.
She was a radiating beauty. Her eyes of ocean blues and she moved like a trained dancer knowing her places and words.
She took me to the Monterey Bay and she made me dump my whiskey and sad songs into the sand. We drank strong coffee and laughs at the strifes and the torment of life. My delicate flower made my sad heart vanish and we danced on the quiet Winter beach of Monterey.
Today I dream of wildflowers and beautiful sunsets. I remember the Pacific ocean and my delicate flower.