The blog as poetry, not documentary

He doesn't remember saying them.
Those three magic words plus one.
Which doesn't surprise me at all.

He certainly didn't say them as if it were some big admission. He didn't say them as if he expected a huge emotional reaction from me. And he didn't get one. Even after, I haven't been obsessing over it, although I was curious what his response would be when I told him that I'd heard it.

And he didn't remember.
Which is no surprise.
Given the amount he drank that night.

So don't make too big a deal of it.
Cause I'm not.
He's fond of me.
That's enough.

I'm amused more than anything, with no expectations of flowers and chocolates. Definitely not chocolates, given the diet and diabetes issues. Though eventually I might be allowed an occasional small square of of super dark chocolate. Yum...

Something you all should keep in mind.
Mainly, I write this blog for myself.
It's good for me to write regularly.
And talking and writing is how I process things.
Sometimes I figure things out as I say them.

But sometimes I write mainly for you.
To amuse you.
To entertain you.
At times deliberately to arouse you.
And at times to feed your romantic streak.

So I might present things through trick glasses that fill the scene with hearts and flowers and moony eyes. The view you then get is to some extent mine, and very little his. I've given the warning before, that you need to remember that I'm a writer. I select, I edit, I embellish, I leave things out.

And I'm a poet.
I do things with words.
My life is my raw material.
My blog is not a photograph.
It's an impressionist painting.

Even so-called reality shows have writers.