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Be still, my lovelorn heart.
Apr. 14th, 2008 06:28 pmToday I got an invitation from The Bushi From Mutsu (who, O My Gentle Readers, I have yet to actually meet in person) to grace his Pennsic encampment with my elegant presence, should I be looking for shelter among the pilgrimage-making multitudes there. Yes, poems were enclosed. (This missive also confirms the rumblings I'd heard that he is no longer with his former household. I don't know and probably don't need to know why he moved on, that's his business and I am content to leave it there.)
Pennsic is just not in the budget for this year, not with a wedding to attend back east later this year. I did attend last year, but he did not, to my great disappointment. Is it truly our karma never to actually meet? Nonetheless, it is good to hear from him again.
"How can you do that?" I've had people ask me. I know. How can I trade love poems with someone I never met and him married in real life?
Because we can.
Here's a sample reaction from me upon receiving a poem from my collaborator. That's good imagery. Holy crap, he means ME! (Emotional response.) What do I do now? How do I top that? (Yes, this is more than a little competetive.)
Saionji isn't me, she's just a part of me. The same holds true for my correspondent a continent away. It's roleplaying. Yes, he's written things that have provoked strong emotional reactions from me. In order to write effective responses to his poems, I allow myself those reactions in the compartment of my mind where I am "being Saionji." At the same time, in another compartment, I am always, ALWAYS conscious of the realities.
When we started trading poems and things started getting interesting, I came out and asked him whether there was anyone in his life who would be hurt/jealous/threatened by our correspondence and told him I would stop that instant if so. That was when he told me how much his wife enjoyed reading the latest installments.
Do we have crushes? Do we wonder what if? Ah, that would be telling.
Suffice to say, we have discussed the realities. The love story is a fantasy - the realities are respect and honor and friendship and they are nothing to sneeze at, thank you. I never let myself forget them. I continue to tell him to thank K. for letting him "come out and play." And when that day comes, I hope to be ready, with roses and decadently good chocolate. For her.
Pennsic is just not in the budget for this year, not with a wedding to attend back east later this year. I did attend last year, but he did not, to my great disappointment. Is it truly our karma never to actually meet? Nonetheless, it is good to hear from him again.
"How can you do that?" I've had people ask me. I know. How can I trade love poems with someone I never met and him married in real life?
Because we can.
Here's a sample reaction from me upon receiving a poem from my collaborator. That's good imagery. Holy crap, he means ME! (Emotional response.) What do I do now? How do I top that? (Yes, this is more than a little competetive.)
Saionji isn't me, she's just a part of me. The same holds true for my correspondent a continent away. It's roleplaying. Yes, he's written things that have provoked strong emotional reactions from me. In order to write effective responses to his poems, I allow myself those reactions in the compartment of my mind where I am "being Saionji." At the same time, in another compartment, I am always, ALWAYS conscious of the realities.
When we started trading poems and things started getting interesting, I came out and asked him whether there was anyone in his life who would be hurt/jealous/threatened by our correspondence and told him I would stop that instant if so. That was when he told me how much his wife enjoyed reading the latest installments.
Do we have crushes? Do we wonder what if? Ah, that would be telling.
Suffice to say, we have discussed the realities. The love story is a fantasy - the realities are respect and honor and friendship and they are nothing to sneeze at, thank you. I never let myself forget them. I continue to tell him to thank K. for letting him "come out and play." And when that day comes, I hope to be ready, with roses and decadently good chocolate. For her.
