Love Lost

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I Think About Ondine

I think about Ondine's life.  
I think about her death.  
I think about her journey.  
I think about our grief.  
I think about her mother.  
I think about her brother Andre.  
I think about the friends she left behind.  
I think about the people who took advantage of her during her life.  
I think about the love of Abuelita in tennis shoes.
I think about her "sister" Anna.  
I think about human love.
  
I think about Ondine's kaleidoscopic beauty.  
I think about human passion.  
I think about human cruelty.  
I think about forgiveness and mercy, about tenderness and care.  
I think about emotions unspoken and hearts torn apart, about abrupt separation and cries for help.  
I think about chasms of separation, about nightmares and pain.  
I think about a Christmas without presents, about a fatherless home.  
I think about the estrangement and reconciliation of a mother and daughter, about a sister and brother never reconciled.  
I think about a grandfather shoveling coal.  
I think about the emptiness of drugs and alcohol and the horrors of detox.  

I think about a man made complete by a woman.  
I think about how love surprises us all.  
I think about worlds apart and about eternity and reunion, about the mysteries of the universe and our meaningful roles in its enormity.  
I think about the instant in the vastness of time when I hold Ondine in my arms again.  
I think about all of these things, Mamita, and I weep softly for my love, for Ondine.  
Only they are tears of joy, for I know we will have each other again.


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I Think About Ondine