@petersolisnery, Part 2

MOST of my Instagram posts are photo-inspired.

I take photos from my iPhone, and write my thoughts over it.

Sometimes, I try a little poetry.

Most of them anyway.

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Some posts are just words. Reflections.

Wise thoughts and realizations that come to me.

Ideas that nag me.

Or, resolutions to the questions that nag me.

I think a lot about Life and Existence, you know.

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I want to know what Love is. I want to feel it.

I want to see it. And understand its various forms.

Sometimes, I feel so wise. Sometimes, I feel inadequate.

Sometimes, I feel so lost. And just crazy in love.

My social media posts attest to these.

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The Oia village in Santorini is famous for its sunsets.

Of course, they claim it is home to the most beautiful sunset in the world.

I will not argue against it. I was there. And how thousands of people flocked to that sunset point to watch the sunset was electrifying.

Maybe, it really is the most beautiful sunset in the world!

Anyway, I took a sunset photo (and video) in Oia, and posted it on my Instagram (@petersolisnery).

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A few days later, while still in Greece, I kissed someone who I thought was heaven-sent.

He gave me heaven, all right.

But only for a night.

He was great.

He was magnificent.

He knows how to love me.

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And if I were Mr. Right for him, and not just Mr. Right Now, I would have taken him back to the US with me, or I would have moved to Greece for him.

But he was just a beautiful Greek sunset against the Aegean sea.

A glorious dying of the sun, and then comes the darkness of the night.

To remember him, I wrote this over the Oia sunset photo:

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I searched the world

For your kiss;

And when it felt

Right for me,

Alas, it wasn’t

Right for you.

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In Italy, overwhelmed by the art I’ve seen in Florence (I went to three museums: Galleria dell’ Accademia, Galleria degli Uffizi, Fondazione Franco Zeffirelli, all three in one day), I wrote this statement of love for the one I thought should have been with me admiring Michaelangelo’s  David, among many other things:

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One day, I’ll go blind

But oh, the things my eyes

Have seen will never

Be taken away from me.

One day, my heart will stop

But oh, how much

I loved you. And no one can

Take that away from you.

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I have a romantic heart.

And ever since I was widowed, I like addressing the boyfriend I still haven’t met.

Or, the current men I thought I love.

Occasionally, I also like to sing about the occasional lovers I meet along the way.

In Quebec early last month, for example, I got snowed just before Spring officially started.

Thus, this poem over a photo of a wintry landscape:

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Fall, fall

Fall all over me

Cover me white

With kisses

And just fall

Fall white

On top, and

All over me.

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Of course, I was talking not just about the snow only.

I was not talking about a snowman either.

I was talking about a man. A Quebecois.

Not as white as snow, but white enough.

His kisses were not white, or cold, as snow. He was passionate.

There was a “falling” in the way he kissed me.

In the way he touched me, and covered me.

In the way he topped, and was all over me.

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And then, there is this November Instagram post, written over a photograph of the clouds from my airplane window as I left Milan for Manchester.

Milan was my base during my month-long exploration of Europe by train.

The UK was my base for my four months in the European continent.

In Stockholm, I met someone I pursued for over a week.

I meant, we spent just one night and one day together. But we were on Facebook messenger chatting even when I was already exploring the rest of the Scandinavia.

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And on that day,

When you finally realize

You can also love me,

It will not be too late

(Oh, no! It’ll never be too late),

Only too sad.

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I remember tearing up while on that plane.

But not only because of this man, this boy.

Rather, because of all the men and boys, and the few girls in between, that I have loved before.

It was also because, at last, I saw the Europe that I wanted to see.

And also because I may never travel around Europe again in that way.

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And also because of the regret for not traveling to Europe when I was younger.

Of course, twenty, fifteen, years ago is out of the question. I could not have afforded it.

Ten years ago, well… I could have afforded it by then, but it was just too much hassle as I was still navigating, and establishing myself, in the USA as a worker bee.

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So yeah, there is that element of the boy from Sweden in what I wrote.

But also there was the wise understanding that it was also my life.

And on that day (when I am old and gray), / When I finally realize / I can also love (and experience) Europe, / It will not be too late / (Oh, no! It’ll never be too late), / Only too sad./PN