“Love You Dizzy,” and the Cunning Fennec Fox

“Love You Dizzy.”

         These three sad words were a promise she made to me.  The whole thing goes, “Mon Cher . . .  I will Love You Dizzy . . .”

         I capitalize these words because they meant something.  They were more than words.  They were HOPE, something I had not felt in years.  Something I once dreamt about but was afraid to tell anyone.
            Hope breaks like something fragile; hope gets stolen like the priceless gem it is.  And like the frightened animal it becomes when cornered in the caves of our hearts, Hope fights, then dies from fright . . . 

         She was beautiful, and I loved her.  She knew me and said she believed in me.  She saw my heart and, brave creature that she was, stroked it like her very own unicorn, safe in her lap, despite the terror she surely felt.  She gave until she did not, and I wept at this loss.

         And here am I, wondering if I think of her, of us, too much.  I obsess that I may be obsessing, and it ruins me.  I am afflicted; I am . . . unsound.

         “I should have known,” she told me once, prefacing with this, this fresh arrow, nocked and ready, “That I could never live that life . . .”

         My life.  The one she knew.  The one in which she was to love me dizzy.

         So I find myself banished from Eden, behind me the flaming sword which turned every way, keeping me from the Tree of Life.  She of the “Love You Dizzy” was my subtle serpent, beguiling me, and I did eat.  Perhaps this is why I know all there is to know of The Knowledge of Good and Evil, yet know so very little about Life.

         Thus is the reason perhaps, why I leave behind me this procession of spectres.