Most of us find it terribly hard to leave our past in our past. Especially when it comes to love. This bit of writing was inspired by my Gilda. It’s her voice I hear clearly when I write. And luckily she approved…hehe! Do note – no one was killed….except on paper and perhaps in song!

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My great grandmother was a wise woman dearie. She knew she had to bury her lovers and leave no trace! Oh now… don’t look so appalled. I am not for one second suggesting murder, unless you think it absolutely necessary that is. Your choices are your own and I have seen too much in my long years.  Won’t you be as kind as to hand me a biscuit? No, the ones with the chocolate center please… Perhaps that is the trouble with you younger ones. You never can rid yourself of the burden, because love can be a burden!

My great grandmother buried her Fourth and Favorite Husband on the top of a hill, in between the long grasses, flowers and ticks that jumped on her green pants she wore. She found an old bench, the one they sat on while still in love and out of her bag took a picture. The two of them sat in silence for a while; my great grandmother and the photo of her Fourth and Favorite Husband. They stared at beauty of the open sky, the green on every tree and the yellow of every rose as they did so many years ago. Just as a small wind tossed her long grey hair about, when she had just about enough of the hills, the trees, the flowers and him – she let out a howl so loud it startled the birds and awoke the gods. Here, she said – take this love and keep it safe until I return. I will mourn no longer. As she walked down that rocky hill littered with flowers and sweet memories she felt lighter, younger. A rosy bloom flushed her cheeks and a wicked smile returned to her eyes. Now that is not to say she did not miss her  Fourth and Favorite Husband dearie. That she really did but it no longer tore through her and she had peace in her next days…

I buried so many lovers and sleep rather well, thank you very much. Now Jeffrey was a lovely man. Yet I tossed him into the sea so he could pester someone else with his insecurities. Tony, silly black haired Tony. Tony the gambler was burnt and I used his ashes to mark my forehead during Lent, swearing to never forget how he scorched me, the bastard man!

I might be old and my eye sight fading but I can see it on you dearie. I know that his love snakes its way around your throat. Makes it hard to breathe sometimes eh? Even harder when a prospective lover looks your way. My great grandmother was a wise woman. It’s not only the love of a bad man that can kill you. It’s the love of a good man that won’t leave your skin….and that is the worst poison there is. Bury them dearie. Bury them and their love alive. Offer their skins to whoever will have it! Do as my great grandmother and I did. How else to keep your heart safe?

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