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I found Mezza in the mirage of a tin-roofed church

He asked me for directions to the shebeen

And I gave them

I thought his smile was beautiful

There was a perfect gap between his two front teeth

And his face was broad and open and brown like the earth

I do not think it was smooth

But my memory has since combed it so

It was a real face

And Mezza was a real person

I do not remember what ‘Mezza’ stood for

And I do not remember the meaning of the what it was abbreviated from

But I do remember it was something frighteningly big

Like ‘Bringer of Destiny’

“That is a big name to live,” I said

“Yes it is,” he said solemnly

We spoke only a handful of conversations

But they were real conversations

In them, the questions needed answers

And the truth could not be hidden with a laugh

I tried, but he did not join in

And his eyes sought it unabashedly 

When he did laugh though

(I mean really laugh)

Well

I am a collector of laughs

And I will always treasure his

Mezza laughed a lot

He laughed the day he arrived

And he laughed in the morning as I woke up

Actually

He smiled in the morning as I woke up

But it was hard to tell the difference

Both were drenched in kindness

And highly contagious 

On New Years

The tequila swam in brightly colored rings around the fire

I swam too much

“You can put your head on my shoulder,” Mezza said

And we sat

We sat in front of the crashing waves

And the roaring moonlight

And the dancing people who had finally found freedom

(Some for the first time)

We sat

In front of the whispering stars

And the friendly goats

And the endless grassy knolls

Then Mezza left

But before he left

I was sleeping

Yet I hold a far away memory

Of hands pulling a blanket gently up to my shoulders

And lips kissing me softly on the forehead

Truly, I do not know if it was a dream

Or perhaps it was another

But for some reason

I cannot stand the thought of the latter

Agh

This is all so painfully common

But it is all true

And I think it takes very little life

To discover that true things

Are exotic and rare in their own way

I suppose

Anyhow

Something about it felt new

The way his smile sought after me

But more than that

The way his hands didn't

He seemed to like to watch me dance

So I danced

He told me I was an amazing girl

So I smiled

He said that sometimes, just to be near a person is enough

So it was

If you asked him

I doubt he would say he loved me

But that is immaterial

And it is wrong

His actions were genuine

And kind

And presumed nothing

And so I say he loved me

It was not so much a feeling he had towards me

As an experience he freely gave me

And

Well

He was not my first love

And even now, he is not my last love

And he has not been my greatest love

In fact

My love for Mezza has very little to do with loving Mezza at all

But he loved me without expectations  

...I gave him nothing in return

So

He was not my first regret

And even now, he is not my last regret

And he has not been my greatest regret

But

I do sometimes stare dizzily into fire

And wish my head were resting on his shoulder

I suppose I am still selfish

These are not the musings of an old woman

There are very few things about myself or life as I see it

Which do not change with a strong breath of wind

But from time to time

Generally in the wake of some wannabe lover

Who did not notice that my corpse could hardly feel his overeager hands

I wonder what would have happened

Had I loved Mezza back

Would I have finally shared the loving of a human
Or would he have morphed to beast

Like all the rest

In the fullmoonshine of a lustful night

And well

Today is one of those sometimes

One of those days

I've got the myth of Mezza on the mind