the lost man chronicles
book two: the art of love

a love letter to sigh

Sigh, suspiro. Such a simple and beautiful word to phonetically express and somatically sum a bitter-sweet sentiment. In a single breath we release and relay desire, loss, interminable yearning—a soul-burning pine for lost love.

Exasperation, frustration, consternation, even constipation—all of the above can be conveyed curt and sibilantly as well.

Sigh, you are so perfectly swell. Poignant and half-respiring, you confess the lover's never-tiring, but ever-impatient hell, as she waits for her paramour. And under the arch of the door closing upon the rendezvous, it is he who sighs, torn betwixt lingering and the pull of obligation tearing him apart.

Sigh, you can even muster courage when at the start of a performance the thespian, soldier or athlete is called upon.

It is so sad that so many think of you solely in terms of weariness and sorrow, for I intimately know that when I exhale it is because, alas, I have experienced a glorious past and now reminisce nostalgically, or that I pine for what may very well be—a better tomorrow.

Sigh, I love you.

the art of living the art of living the beginning the art of love the list

legal l.m