I sat in the lean-to for a bit last night. It's been a while, perhaps over two years but the timeline is iffy. Two years and a few months seems right. I sat on that bench, in that lean-to, on a date of sorts. It was a late walk and we went for shelter when a thunder storm rolled in. The rain never did much but there was rolling thunder and lightning flashes lit up the water, electric-blue. It was romantic in a way.
In a way.
I'm not sure anymore what romance really is. There is an awful lot written about romance and love but none of it rings particularly true with me. There is no frame of reference to make that judgement. It just doesn't ring true. Note also that I say "anymore" without every having any previous knowledge or even a hunch. I went with the assumption that if there was longing it must be love and if there were love it must be romance. A body can long for a lot of things though and most of them aren't love.
We sat on that bench though and held hands and made out for a long while and it felt good. This is my first time back and not for any particular reason other than there are usually a few people sitting there already. There was a bit of a nagging feeling that something was unresolved though but I could pick any point on the linear trajectory of my life and get the same feeling. It would be nice to let all that go. It's not necessary but it would be nice.
This time I was there with Miss Jane Pitbull, and damned if she didn't hop up on the bench next to me and sit close with her muzzle under my chin. That's real love for sure. Not romance of course but love. One could always say her feelings are about dependency for warmth and food, but maybe that's what all love is about, no? Don't ask me. I really don't know for sure.