I realise I fall so easily in love, that I have fallen in love with yet another city.  And maybe it’s the people, and maybe it isn’t; but whatever it may be, love it is.

And the city this time is Dublin.  And being there drives me to unbounden creativity, and I live for creating, and I live for the conversation, and I live for the bustle and the business and the art.  And yes I live for the people I have met there, though this I cannot say with clarity – even to myself – because above all I strive to be a respectful man who treasures the freedoms of others.  

Especially when this means my own must remain restricted.

Especially that.

Especially that.

But to fall in love with a city is the right of all humankind.  We are utterly allowed to express our generosity and emotion, and the hugs and embraces that issue unstoppably forth: the sheer floods of empathy and closeness, and even a tension which borders the sexual on strange occasion.  

And I know there are people out there who just want me to make, even as all I would wish for myself is to goddamn make out.

And I know that although they indicate controlled passion in order that I might pull my own socks up and finally launch myself on the journey life holds for me, that passion they indicate so sorely has far more to do with money and its making than the real affection and touch and holding near that I so dearly yearn after.

So you want for me worldly ambition.

Meanwhile, I want the love – freely and generously expressed – of a good woman.

In its absence, right now, I take thee Dublin for my partner.  And even where a real human being might care not enough for me, in your myriad of citizens and souls I find the peace my life never managed to bring.

The peace I would now happily exchange for all worldly ambitions.

The love I would now happily gather to me.

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