Thursday, June 12, 2008
the onion soup
“Unless commitment is made, there are only promises and hopes; but no plans.” - Peter F. Drucker
that someone upstairs likes to twiddle with my life audaciously. but i have onion soup. onion soup sustains. the process of making it is somewhat like the process of learning to love. it requires commitment, stupendous effort, time, and will make you cry.
passion is the quickest to develop, and also the quickest to fade. intimacy develops more slowly, and commitment more gradually still. the little girl watches as hands of the grandfather clock moves unhurriedly across the handcrafted oaken slate, convinced that time deliberately took its time with him. her gaze fell upon the closed doors and the evening sun that came in through the cracks. she waits to hear the footsteps coming up the porch, to see the gentle tug on the turning knob, and to lounge ardently into his arms so sudden he won't know what hit him.
but we're not talking about the little girl here, we're talking about me. i want to be extraordinary together, not ordinary apart. so love me back. yearn the touch of my hand across your face, miss the smell of my hair that reminds you of rose hips and chamomile, come back and plant a gentle kiss on my lips and tell me you want me. and i, i will make you onion soup. perhaps with a little beef in it for extra taste. and a heart shaped sunny side up garnished with a peck of fresh parsley. so let me love you. i can cook well. i can make onion soup.
6 coffee beans
