And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
Khalil Gibran

The simple lack of her is more to me than others’ presence.
Edward Thomas

Absence diminishes small loves and increases great ones, as the wind blows out the candle and blows up the bonfire.
Francois de la Rouchefoucauld

Absence from those we love is self from self - a deadly banishment.
William Shakespeare

Yes, I’m feeling lonely. A shroud of melancholy surrounds me. Pathetic, I know. It’s a sad state of affairs for The Stevo.

An absent wife, grey days and the rains, exhaustion, and boredom. The life of an expat often “Sucks balls” (Even Cartman can’t make me laugh).

I think I’ll spend the weekend listen to The Cure and eating French fries, or maybe poutine since I have 5 pounds of cheese in my fridge.

Ya, Valentine’s Day is over. I consider this post a very early effort for Chinese Valentine’s Day (Qi Xi, August 26, 2009). Mrs. Stevo is still in England. Lonely and morose, I was flipping through wedding photos. Not the expensive studio shots that cost a month’s salary, the images captured at the reception.

Strong rice alcohol/spirit make some men think they are Godzilla. This photo is a testament to Mrs. Stevo’s good nature. I should very well be single now. Yes, there are more images like this, I am ashamed to admit. I was told that I offered to buy lunch for everyone in the hotel dining room. I guess I was a generous Godzilla.

red Ravine had a great Valentine’s post, as did Baron Von Rochester, although the opposite end of the spectrum. They (and everyone else) are far more on the ball than I.

A post about Irish Whiskey, the next about a drunken groom. No, I don’t have a problem. Mornings are hard enough without having to deal with a hangover. I’m not the young lad I once was. There are no 12 step programs in my future, Ron.

For you my absent valentine. Wo ai ni. 5201314.

The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can never end.
Benjamin Disraeli

Captured: October 18, 2008. on the Star Ferry, Victoria Harbor, Hong Kong.

Average Jane is a misnomer. The prose posted on her blog are not average. If work of her caliber could be labeled as average I would be delighted: We would have an incredibly literate planet.

Her recent post, A list of never-to-do things, as well as a first-love remembrance by amuirin, got me to thinking. That is dangerous. I don’t like looking back. I fear with only a glance over my shoulder I may experience a fate similar to Lot’s wife or Orpheus,. If I turn to salt you are welcome to use my remains as seasoning.

During the summer of 1990 I fell hard. Off a motorcycle, but that was later. I am referring to one of those once-in-a-lifetime thunderclaps of love. Yes, the L-word. My life was akin to a bad Hollywood screenplay, a DVD by Touchstone Pictures that Blockbuster would happily stock. One moment I was me, the next a slobbering, moody, love-crazed 19-year-old.

We had known each other three years, co-workers at a summer camp. There had always been something between us, a chemistry that we both silently acknowledged but never acted upon. We were both involved, or were whenever the other was free. It was just beyond consciousness.

At the start of that fateful summer she and a friend, and a friend and I played a nightly game of cards. The loosing team, split along gender lines, gave the winners a massage. Yes, you can see where this is going. While something intimate and secret develops between a masseuse and patient this was only partially the case. We traded massages a time or two. Hands upon shoulders became lips against lips. Read the full story

Captured: Bangkok, Thailand, January 24, 2008.

At the time of this post it is just past midnight, EST, in North America. November 20th is my sister’s birthday. It’s not a big birthday this year, that will arrive in 2008.

Here’s to you, sis. We may not be close geographically, but you are close to our hearts. Have a good day. We miss you.