Judas

Dear Maria,

You made it so perfect. Twelve followers. My twelve little blogger disciples, dwindled down now to eleven. You were neither family or friend, in other words, you were not obliged to read my ramblings.  I don't even know where you came from.  Houston, England, Delaware?  Why did you go away?  Was it my poor grammar?  Bad sentence structure?  Terrible jokes?  Lame delivery of the terrible jokes?

My morning had been full of sunshine and thoughts of babies on rainbows.  Now, my thoughts are of rain clouds and pre-teens on stimulants.

You made me believe in myself, in my skills as a writer and a dreamer, philosopher, architect, historian, biographer, daredevil-beauty queen.  See, you even made me delusional!  That's the kind of power you yield over me.

Maria.  I think I will name my first born Maria.  Maria Kate or Edward-Maria for a boy.

I would like to memorialize you, Maria, with a song that I* wrote:

How do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?
How do you find a word that means Maria?
A flibbertijibbet! A will-o'-the wisp! A clown! A traitor!

Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her?

Many a thing she ought to understand
But how do you make her stay?
And listen to all you say?
How do you keep a wave upon the sand?

Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?

Here is a picture to remember your face by, although it has already been etched on my heart...

According to this photo, you are a very pretty girl. You're welcome.

My blog is always open to you even though you are dead to me.

Regards,

BB

*No, I did not.