Paris Day 1 - The Arrival III

After our first meal in Paris, we decided to go for a stroll around Avenue Termes and meet up with Nahomy and Kelvin at the Metro station. This was our first chance to really see how the locals act, passing many cafes and boutique stores along the way. This is rush hour and there are plenty of local Parisians strolling the streets, some holding on to a briefcase, while others simply carry a baguette. Eventually we reached the Metro on Avenue Termes and met up with our fellow travelers.

The cavernous Metro system in Paris is one of the easiest / accessible transportation systems in the world. It is dependable and fast. I recommend buying the ten ticket pass, which comes out to a little over 11 Euros; trust me you will need them. With ticket in hand, we swing into the Metro for the very first time. A good mixture of locals (who want nothing to do with tourists) and cheery tourists from all over the world await. As the Metro hums along, we notice that there is a three piece band playing music towards the back of the cabin.  This is one of many encounters with musicians both on the Metro and outside it. Music is certainly not frowned upon in this great city.

We get off near Rue de Rivoli, adjacent to the Tuleries Gardens, and check in for our scheduled boat tour of the River Seine. With some time to kill, we hit a cafe for a quick drink, after all it's 90 F and humid. We bid au revoir to our fellow travelers and on we go on the massive bus that will take us to our boating destination.

This is where it truly hits me, on a boat down the Seine, watching the scenery all around me...the Eiffel tower in the distance, Notre Dame pillars, ancient bridges, lush residences, the way the sun lights up the city. It's all magical. It's hard to explain unless you are there and experience it. This part of the world with so much history, resonates with magic and a clarity unlike anything I've ever experienced. This isn't just some old world city, this is magic, this is beauty, this is exactly why I needed to be here, this is Paris. It is charming, it is ethereal, almost like a fairy tale. I thanked God countless times while on that boat, thinking how lucky I was. Never will I see the sun set like I did while on the Seine. And still..this is just day 1. C'est tres bon!

Paris Day 1 - The Arrival II

We decide to explore our surroundings a bit and quickly notice a few cool things. We have a butcher shop, a small grocery market, a wine shop, a bakery and a pastry shop wrapped around the hotel. Additionally, there are two cafes conviently located in our vicinity - L'Arc and Le Grand Carnot.

As we continue our stroll past our newfound neighborhood, we pass numerous residential areas among a slew of other boutiques and cafes. Crossing into Avenue Mac-Mahon we come face to face with the deranged Parisian drivers and the after-work crowd rushing to grab a smoke, a baguette, a coffee, anything they could get their hands on. Finally, hunger sets in and we settle on a cafe called "Beer Station" , and walk into the place signaling that we desire to sit outdoors.

The cool thing about cafes in Paris is that they outnumber people and their chairs all face away from the cafe. It is a vital custom in Paris to people watch, check out what's happening at the cafe across the street, and essentially be a nosy oogler. Parisians love to watch people, it is in their blood. They must stare and mutter something unintelligible. It's part of the game. A thousand stares come down as we sit in a Parisian cafe for the first time, as the natives react violently to the tourist threat. Parisians detest tourists...but more on that later. When in Paris, do as the Parisians do. Order wine - which is exactly what we do. Along with beer...1664 how I miss thee

We take a break from chatting about what we are going to devour to just take in the scene around us. We are in Paris, at a café, how cliché perhaps, but it must be done. Life goes on all around us. Rapid fire Parisians, drinking their coffee. Others staring out into the Avenue. One guy is reading a newspaper. Cafes are like a second home in Paris; a place to kick off your shoes, put your feet up and just unwind a bit. The table becomes part of your real-estate as far as the waitstaff is concerned. They don’t come over and inquire about the quality of your meal, or if you need another beer. They simply let you be. And you can literally sit there the entire day. Bliss.

Cote du Rhone is the wine of choice. Simply gorgeous. Our meals arrive – ‘still alive’ cow with buttery pasta for moi, steak and frites for Melitza. Decent meal with the highlight being the pasta. Delicious. After devouring everything including the bread basket, it’s time to just linger. And that is exactly what we do.

Paris Day 1 - The Arrival

Wednesday July 24^th – Paris Day 1

It is 11:45 AM Paris time, and we’ve finally arrived from Madrid. I actually gasped when the plane landed…Am I really here? Craziness...It’s a hot one today around 86 degrees, and the distinct lack of air conditioner is noticeable at the Orly airport while waiting for our luggage. Melitza had no hope that the bags would arrive given our tardiness in getting our boarding passes at Logan. Luckily, I did not have to wait long. The bags arrived quickly and off we were to use the ATM! Took out 200 Euros and off I went to make my first purchase – an orange soda and a red bull. Yeah, I l know, exciting! Luckily we had already paid for admission to the bus which if my calculations are correct, would drop us off within 5 minutes walking distance from the hotel. 

 

Off we go, on the road towards Paris. Traffic is so weird here… lanes are narrow and cars are small. The bus trots along like an 18 wheeler and I just hope to make it in once piece. As you enter Paris from the South end, you notice tons of graffiti and run down buildings. Looks like a bomb went off here and vegetation has taken over the buildings as its new tenants.

Once we leave the artwork scenery the real Paris comes to light. The buildings, the tiny apartments with their balconies, the tourists, the cafes…! The closer we get to the stop I begin to recognize some of the highlights of Paris.  Pont Neuf, Le Grand Palais, Musee D’Armee and then the Eiffel catches the corner of my eye and that is when I suddenly come to realize, I am actually here. The stop comes to a halt a few feet off the Arc de Triomphe. What a majestic view. Melitza reminds me that I am actually walking in Paris. I just nod my head. There are 6 avenues that end at the Arc, with one of them being Avenue Carnot, where our hotel lies.

We drag our luggage downhill towards the Hotel Astrid, our bones barely hanging on to us, and within minutes we enter. To our left is a cozy room where they serve breakfast. The hotel attendant (I never caught her name) greets us with the ubiquitous Bon Jour. I respond with a Bon Jour of my own though not as guttural as hers. It actually sounds like she ends it with a ‘grrrrr’ of sorts…She quickly surmises that we are tourists. Referring to us as Monsieur and Madame Lopez. This is awesome.  She hands over the key to room 527 (cinquant veinte-sept), which weighs as much as a 20 pound barbell, and off we go.

The elevator is more like a coffin than an elevator. Fits at most 5 people…I take the luggage with me while Melitza decides it’s best to climb 5 stories. Once we finally figured out how to open the door (by sheer luck…), we head in. The room is tiny but cute with a closet, a mounted TV a desk, a small table and a pretty big bathroom. But the highlight of the room is its old style window which opens into an awesome view of the buildings across the avenue, with its red-tiled roofs.  I stick my head out and look towards my right, and there it is… the Arc de Triomphe in all its glory, welcoming us to Paris.

The Art of Falling

We all fall at some point in our lives. From the time we first attempted to walk to the time we tripped over our own feet staring at someone or something of interest. As a matter of fact, we fall a lot. We have mastered the art of falling in our face, falling down the stairs, falling out of the bathtub, falling out of favor; falling into sharp objects, falling out of love, falling behind, falling out of grace. Well... you get my point.

The narrative suggests that something causes us to fall, and in this context, it is that something that is the driving force behind our many falls. What would happen if we never fell? Would we remain in motion eternally? Would it violate the laws of physics and cause some sort of cosmic tear? Interruptions, that is what I will refer to them. These are the ones responsible for our many falls. These interruptions run the gamut from simple objects of interest...that redhead walking down the street sipping her coffee, a '69 Ford Mustang, the way sunlight reflects off a window, thoughts about the past, worries about the future, betrayals, broken hearts, clumsiness, dishonor - they are pervasive and effect our normal way of walking and of simply being.

Some will say that these are necessary elements of humanity, to fall and rise, like the sun. That these are lessons in courage, hardship and the pursuit of something greater, ingrained in our conscience through generations of missteps. Perhaps all of those are contributing factors to our limited mobility. But what is truly the purpose behind our many falls? Is it our inherent fragile nature, our weak selves? Because in essence, we are weak, we are fragile, as fragile as rose petals. Our perceived strength and drive is rendered obsolete. We drift by like a ship on stormy seas.

It takes so much to fulfill ourselves. It takes such a small misstep to cause us to fall, to feel hollow, to harbor emptiness, to rage against humanity and the gods, to envy. All around us lie simple delights that can overwhelm us with fulfillment and continuity.

Inspiration. Cerca trova "Seek and you shall find"

Quick Morning Thoughts

Illusions                                                                                                                                                              
At some point, the shadows receded and revealed a poignant figure in their mist. Inevitably, one must ask, why does the mist linger? Why does it disguise our fears inadvertently? In disgust, we made our final descent towards the mist and the gaping abyss it represented. Were we to live, we would always look back at this moment, as the moment which bested us - the moment which obliterated our dreams and aspirations. A somber reminder of oppression and despair fully committed to the shattering of our salvation.

From Within

A final look provides solidarity, perspective and affirmation that today’s intricacies are all intertwined. Identities seem scattered, grasping hopelessly for relevance and a renewed sense of self-worth. Increasingly, hostile attempts at combining efforts are proving to be futile in nature and in their inception. To what end do we allow floating memories to simply collide? Is there an ending to collusion or are we merely fighting an uphill battle? Certainly best efforts are being made to protect and shield the successors from the malcontents. Still, the failures attributed to this dilemma are endemic and frightening.

The Nightmare                                                                                                                               
I did not know what time it was. All I knew was that the windowless room presented minimal opportunities for escape. For once I was at a loss for words. I questioned my hearing at first until I pounded on the wall and was able to distinctly hear the hollowness of the wall. I yelled, yet no words were audible. Frustrated, I pounded on the wall some more, angry and helpless, until I felt the wall give a little. Perhaps my instincts were kicking in. All I knew was that I did not belong in that room. I continued to pound and kick the wall, until I felt air rushing in. As I continued to make my way through, it became apparent that I had entered another windowless room. I cursed and was able to hear myself finally. Then the room went dark, and I could no longer see.

Change Your Stars

One of my favorite quotes comes from Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist, “When you really want something to happen, the whole universe conspires so that your wish comes true.” 

How do you go back to your life? How do you train yourself to breathe again? You question everything; the meaning of you, your memories, everything that has shaped you in one way or another, lost loves, lost dreams. It is startling to feel as if you have just opened your eyes for the very first time. Your center has been found.

The experience was overwhelming. Everything was positioned exactly as it was supposed to be. Riding on that bus towards Paris, I knew everything would change. All I knew or thought I knew would be questioned. And then the Eiffel sneaks up on you. You catch it from the corner of your eye and you finally come to the conclusion that you have arrived. Aside from my kids' births there has not been a more powerful moment.

I sat on that bus dumbfounded. I sat by the banks of the Seine river inspired by the sheer simplicity of that moment. I prayed at Saint Severin's and shed tears overwhelmed by its beauty and serenity. I rode my bike through centuries old gardens and just breathed. I stood by Marie Antoinette's tomb and paid respects. I saluted Napoleon at his. I sat on street cafes and simply observed the city and its inhabitants; their rituals, their joys and despairs written in their faces like faded graffiti. I'd wake around 3:30 in the morning every day and observe the city as it slept from outside my hotel window, wondering if others were doing the same.

For all its gimmicks, the tourist games, the overcrowded Metro, the thousands of steps taken through its honeycombed neighborhoods, one has to simply let it come. Let it embrace you wholly and unequivocally. For that is its legacy, its allure. You simply fall in love.

I sat on that bus at 5:30 in the morning, moving away from Paris towards an uncertain future. Yet, my present was certain, perhaps more certain than ever. Everything I am made of collided with something greater than myself, something magnificent and glorious and inspiring and blissful. And I am a better human being for it.

Thanks Paris.

No Words to Describe

Exactly a month from now, I will have arrived at a destination most elusive and desired. A place that for the majority of my adult life, has mesmerized me in ways I can barely understand. I can't pinpoint exactly when the love affair began. Perhaps it was a movie or a travel blog I read somewhere. Perhaps conversations with former European co-workers fanned the flames into a raging bonfire. When it was all said and done, something inside me clicked and I knew that there was one place in the world I needed to visit and experience before I died. That place my friends, is Paris.

Just to clear the air, there are no ill-conceived assumptions or cliches to blame. It simply happened. Just like when you first catch the eye of that certain someone and that feeling overwhelms you day and night. In this case, it has never stopped overwhelming me. But what is Paris in reality? The cliches are ridiculous in their enormity and popularity.. One of the most visited cities in the world renders its visitors helpless and penniless all at once! Some fall in love to the point that they leave their possessions astray and make the permanent move. No matter how much reading or prep work I've done, it will never fully prepare me for what I am to experience. Paris is an idea, an idea that seems to move like smoke, and like smoke, it lingers all around me.

This is the third time I've planned a trip to Paris, with the previous two occasions being hijacked by either finances or pregnancies. This time I am going. And I know I will come back changed. I know that the smoke will clear and give way to something otherworldly, something beautiful. As I think about the upcoming journey I feel a landslide of emotions. I can almost touch it. It's almost there, in front of me. It was meant to happen this way.

Those closest to me know how important this journey is to me. Hell, I've even dedicated blogs to Paris on this very site. At this time I will be cruising the Seine during my first night there. I will marvel, I will eat cheese, I will drink copious amounts of French wine, I will ogle at everything and anything, in awe of the City of Light. I will come back changed, for the better.

Paris is an idea. It becomes a reality July 24th. For seven days, everything else is on hold.

I actually Googled "words to describe Paris", and one of the first recommended links said "No words to describe". That is probably the most accurate depiction I've yet to hear.

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." Ernest Hemingway

Compass

Enthralled by the light of it, I quickly got up from the dump that my pool chair had become and went after it. I was unsure as to what it was, but it dawned on me that perhaps it was important and that I should follow it. Initially, it looked like a bird with glass wings, refracting sunlight, causing it to look prismatic.  It floated around the left side of the resort and I gave chase, wondering in one hand, if I was the only one that saw this. Tourists and locals all around me just went about their business while I went head-first after some shiny floating object. As I whipped around the left corner of the building, I ran into one of the tiki bar waitresses, causing her to wear the drinks she was due to serve.

Great things happen in short bursts of time, sometimes too sudden for us to recognize them as valid moments in the lives we lead. We are too busy. We do not pay enough attention.  Whatever happens in those moments of greatness never surfaces to our comprehension because we lack the emotional stability to halt our pace and breathe.  Somewhere above the high watermark, we stumble.  Internally, our compass is not well-attuned, and that leads us to make rash decisions and ultimately take the wrong path down the road.

I never understood what I was chasing, or how great it actually was. In the end, I apologized to the waitress and life moved forward. Still, I made the move; I got out of my chair and went after whatever it was. Things are inevitably intertwined much more than we think we know. Sooner or later we realize that it isn’t about the length of time associated to an event, but rather whether we recognized its importance, its validity and its solidarity.

 

Total

She will hear you. Somewhere in the shadows of silence, she will listen. Attentively at first, and then her eyes, wet and dripping with nostalgia will signal that she can no longer listen.

She retreats to her day to day. Melancholy stops by from time to time, perhaps to keep her company. From time to time she dresses up and dances around midnight, twirling in her bedroom, between the curtains. She reflects back on those memories, deeply ingrained and always near her. Those are her scars, her friends in passing. Part of all the things she is.

But where would she be, without him. Where would the fire and song cling to. They may dissipate into nothing, into a collection of photos and scarves and the types of things men keep. A collage of forgone conclusions and tired acts that just simply don't mean as much anymore.

Well into the morning they blend into colors, unmistakable blemishes of truth, desire and romance. They reveal their solemn embrace, rarely seen by those who choose to keep their eyes shut. These stellar regions of yesterday and today become entangled in their own history.

He will hear you. Somewhere in the shadows of silence, he will listen. Attentively at first, and then his eyes, tired and burning with despair will simply succumb, into the horizon. He waits as does she, as does the world. Guardians of our dreams and desperation. Lovers of the fall and the rise.

Novelists and Dreamers

It's been a couple of months since we last spoke. I've been on a wicked writing slump the likes of which I've never experienced. Nothing has compelled me to write at all, until tonight. Alas, the writing gods are merciful and have scared me straight into never abandoning this road again...!

But, where do we begin? Well, the last few months have been quite eventful.  I visited family and friends up in Massachusetts for the Holidays, and things down in North Carolina are going quite well. I am back in school, will be running my first 5K come end of February and will be bike-ridimg 27 miles for a very personal cause come May. There's a quick recap of my state of affairs.

Shifting gears now...

Different lenses tend to fit when they want to, or rather, when they are supposed to. We like to think that we are always behind the wheel, in control, and that things get out of control only if we let them. But, what of those times when things become quite clear; when intentions are revealed, obfuscating the perceived truth? There's a chance that all of us at some point or another have or will be at that door.

Call it what you want - karma, God, Allah, Murphy's Law, fate; there are forces at work that have other plans in mind. I am convinced without a shadow of a doubt.

But we shall let those forces be for now, and keep pushing forward because it is necessary. It is in our nature to push forward, survive, not settle. There is a level of chaos that gets under our skin when we just let things be. It manifests itself in our day to day relationships and interactions with those close to us. It materializes in our dreams and perceptions.

The augmentation of the spirit. The absolution of our despairs, begins and ends with us. Chaos must be averted. Chaos in this context, becomes eradicated by our strength of will and mind.

Understanding that at the end of it all, we must become the sole writers of the novel, and the narrators of our dreams. To paraphrase the title of an Irish film, we must become The Wind That Shakes The Barley.

Feels good to be back..

Autumn Freelance

Suspicions arise all around us when we admitedlly bare our soul, when we fail to recognize the cracks in the proverbial armor.  After all, the goo that binds us is subliminal yet slightly dated.  It’s like storing rotten eggs in the fridge so that the trash doesn’t smell. 

As the year unwinds, we begin to look back at what was accomplished.  For some of us there were periods of activity unlike in other years.  For others it was a year of transition in its most naked form; uprooting of families, new locations, new smells, new sights, new lessons.

Some lessons are hard to learn and require heavy exposure to the elements of surprise and carelessness.  Some lessons are ignored for fear of giving in to our true feelings, our true sense of purpose. 

Swiftly, the clock ticks towards the turning of one page and the newness of another.  And perhaps we forget that we have pen in hand to do most of the writing, the planning. We forget about inspiration and fail to look around and understand the intricacies that bind us; like leafs in November, they all fall inevitably, signaling that one must shed the weight of false perceptions and failures, however big they may be.

The sense of an ending is daunting, psychologically scarring, sentimental, and sometimes misunderstood. These are the type of alterations that we focus most of our attention to, as they can shake us to our very core, sadistically and without remorse. Most of the time, these episodes lead to a revival of the soul and they remind us of our humanity and absolute depedency on something deeper than ourselves.

Undercurrent

I've often wondered just how hard the wind can blow when it matters. I've wondered about its velocity, its rage, its limitless abandon. Does it really blow when it truly matters or does it sneak by like an evening breeze, frail and forgotten. It is one of those things I've often wondered and it is something I often think about. That moment that sticks with you and peels back the layers of humanity, leaving you naked in your own distress.

Everything washes away in a wind that strong. It certainly must be some kind of revelation, something truly to behold. A spectacle of sheer grandeur and solitude. These are the things that come in dreams.

These are not things to fear, but certainly things to ponder. A wind like that does not come along often. Sometimes it never comes, it's never felt. If you were to ask me if it truly exists, I would certainly question its validity, its beckoning.

Does it come like a thief in the night? I would hate to think that it would be mere trickery and cheap effects. How hard does it blow when it matters. Can you breathe? Can you lift your eyelids? Is there a deafening roar ringing in your ears relentlessly?

I've often wondered these things; this wind that may or may not know me. How hard will it truly blow when it matters most.

Shutter

Sleeping patterns are off as of late. Perhaps I have a lot on my mind and while the body is weary, the mind has its own agenda. 

Things come in and out of focus. I see myself watching the train speed by me in a blur. There is a sense of hopelessness that comes with that. It permeates the air and wraps around you like a blanket. Ice cold and unforgiving.

Maybe it's the change. The shock perhaps is finally manifesting itself in a slow and cruel manner. Whatever it is, it is beginning to weigh on me. It drains me mentally.

Sometimes, the things you think can get you by, abandon you. Your wits, resilience and sheer determination - weapons which carry not bullets, but rather familiarity - they lose their luster and become empty husks. Part of being human. At our most steadfast moment, we fear that there is no other peak to climb and we feel weak.  We drop our guard.

In these most unsettling of times, we look for shelter. We look to wait out the storm and recover. The soul needs a shot through the heart - a shot of inspiration, a long awaited rush of salvation, a recreation of events that ultimately saves us from crumbling. Us creatures of unusual flair, battle-ready and defiant to the very end - our hands sweat and our realities become distorted.

While the dimness grows, there is still light. And we chase that bright spot on the horizon until we can finally touch it, and we let it embrace us. The strangeness of it all, so distinct and tangible, eventually leaves. The lens finds its focus.  The door to the train opens and lets me in.

The Blur

Suspending belief for a second, it is undeniable that the change in location has brought with it slight alterations in the terrain. After all, spending 26 years in one place makes one see everything else as a different planet or dimension. I've now lived 2 weeks in North Carolina, and boy has the terrain changed.

I feel like the Mars rover, landing, viewing everything around me with a different camera lens. I rotate my head and I catch a glimpse of something new. I pick up glances, phrases, smells, and I analyze them as a robot would - carefully, inquisitively.

People ask me what it is like, and it is hard to explain in a few words. Perhaps I am still in a state of proverbial shock. Maybe it has not hit me yet that I am a stranger in a strange land. But the best reference I can come up with, is that it is like landing on a new planet.

There's a sense of tranquility that is found in every nook. Supermarkets, restaurants, highways, they all have what I can only refer to as 'the look'. That is the look of relaxation; of less weight on your shoulders. Smiles come by easier. 'Good mornings' and 'thank yous' are heard everywhere, like church bells. I don't suspect people in the state of North Carolina spend much time planning vacations to far off places looking for 'the look'. Why would they, they have it at their doorstep.

The profound civility and the absence of urgency is refreshing. I find myself much more relaxed, without needing to make myself relax. Work is work and it's always busy.  But that element of the heart-pounding rush to get things done, to get anything done, has been subdued.

I like it. Perhaps I'm jaded. And with time, the truth will come out. And I'll find out that the place is crawling with zombies and devils. The experiment continues. I've picked my blue in Tobacco Road, and Coach K will not like it. 

Oh and it rains like it would in a tropical place. Really friggin' hard.

I miss New England terribly. But for now, this is home. And yes it's 4:23 ET and I can't seem to get some much needed sleep... Stay tuned for more happenings from good ol' Cary!

Lingering Souls

"We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of True Romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone."  Hunter S. Thompson

Do we ever really leave a place? Do perhaps intricate parts of our very being linger in living rooms, kitchens, camping grounds, outdoor patios, coffee shops, bars..? It is very hard for me to comprehend this. Yes physically I will not occupy space, yet the time allotted - 26 years and counting - bears significant scrutiny.

I personally have never taken for granted where I live. New England is a magical place, full of wonders that cannot be duplicated elsewhere - its Fall season, Christmas, Summers at the Cape, Camping in NH.. I can go on and on and that goes back to how I started this paragraph - I never took anything here for granted.

I've gone camping to Greenfield State Park for the better part of 15 years. I've gone to Fenway Park too many times to remember. I worked for 4 crazy years in the beloved city of Boston. I've been an intricate part of the life of two friends for 20 years and counting. All of those things lead me to believe, that I will never truly be gone. And New England will never truly be gone from me.

While I've known for a while that my departure is imminent, nothing prepares you for the end. Nothing can prepare you no matter how hard you try to plan things - to leave it all. You can talk about how you think things will go down in the end. I walk around my house, now devoid of furniture, and I am still unprepared. Nothing can prepare you to leave the very fabric that helped shape you/mold you into who you become.

I can sit here and tell you that I wish I had more time perhaps. There are so many still I have not been able to share time with due to the whirlwind that this Summer has become.

Will I ever really be gone? I'd like to think that I will linger...in rooms, around the corner, around a bonfire, in some seat at Fenway, walking down a street in Boston, walking the strip in Hampton, grabbin' lobstah at Brown's, at a friend's home, laughing, joking, playing pranks, being a run of the mill miscreant, having a staggering amount of beer, hosting 12 hour sessions of cheeseburgers on the grill..

Nothing can prepare you to leave what you love most. We are not all alone, all of our lives. We shall have company we share glorious moments with.  Essentially, and finally, we are never and will never be truly alone.  Sorry Hunter - you got this one wrong. 

Love, me.

P.S. "The real good ones...they transcend and can never be fully extinguished...they simply cannot.  It is in their fiber not to disintegrate.." Franco