“Dear Palm Springs:
I’m sorry, but we are breaking up. It’s not you. It’s me. Really.”
Palm Springs and I first met back in the 1980s. I didn’t really pay much attention to her then. I was young and in town for just a day. We met. I left. Nothing much more occurred between us. I never thought to see her. She never thought to call.
We were re-introduced in the mid 1990s. I was single and young. She, being an older woman quite used to the likes of me, played along and brought sun, pools and a seemingly endless supply of youthful diversions. It was a period, quite frankly, that made me appreciate the experience and history she brought to the table.
It was also, thusly so, that we began dating in ernest in the early ages of the new millennium. The fact i was involved with someone else didn’t bother her at all. I actually think she preferred it more. In any case, our courtship was a relationship filled with fun and memories. Everything we needed, it seemed.
Over time, the friends moved away and parties became less frequent. She still dazzled, Palm Springs. Don’t get me wrong. But our relationship became less ‘escapist’ and more akin to an old married comfort. It became less about flash and fun and more about quite peace. It is, ultimately, what draws most to her.
But another City called. One with a bigger name, so to speak. Having discovered that peace and calm wasn’t so much Palm Springs’ offering as my state of mine, I took the call. But it’s all out there now. She knows, my Palm Springs, that our time is done; is coming to a close. I’m not worried; she’s seen it before. She knows the odds are good I’ll come back to her. So many have. She may be right. Who knows?
Rest assured, I am not leaving her like some wanton lover met at a bar. I am leaving her knowing that while I may be gone, she will never be forgotten. For a person simply doesn’t forget the impact of an affair like we had. Well, at least not me. For, you see, I will always – and I mean – always love Palm Springs.