Wounded Ferryman

One does not know who one is and what one is made of until he/she is tested. You were tested and now you know and I know you loved me and love me still. Loving somebody and who that person is, are reflections of who we are. We cannot love somebody less than of who we are. That was why you were perturbed that I might be less than what you thought I was. The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference and silence. If you let your heart speak for itself, it would tell you in soft, soothing, calm voice of truth, and that is, yes, Roberto or whatever name you wish to call him, is the man of your love and affection, that he's not a womanizer, but a wounded ferryman who tries to get to the shore of true love. You can either help him get there by rowing the ferry with him or letting the ferry drift in the current of life and loneliness. The choice is yours. There are others standing on shore wishing they were in your shoes. Meanwhile the sun is coming down and a storm is gathering. Wind is picking up. Will the wounded ferryman recover from his wounds? Are you strong enough to steer the ferry all by yourself, if need be. 

Loving is a complex process. It takes a lifetime to master. A true ferryman is hard to come by. I speak these words in a moment of peace. My heart is grand, but my voice is weak because I am tired and wounded. Don't be like the VC Geeze. She made me sneeze. She had a small mind and a smaller heart. She was and is full of hurts and of herself which consists mostly of nothing but stinking shit. A person's words must be like the fragrance of a flower. The words must have a sweet smell of love and gentleness. I am all love and gentleness. That's why women find me attractive and want to get on my ferry. Loving me is not hard to do; staying in love with me is. Patience has its reward. And then there will come a moment you realize true sex is not a relief of an itch, but a beautiful giving of oneself to the person one loves. I don't have sex with prostitutes or with just anybody because sex is sacred to me. I am a true human, a philosopher, a poet, a man of sublime feelings, and not just a dog or a pig in heat. 

Wissai, a disciple of Zarathustra and a ferryman