Last

»At last... my love has come along...«
The song filled the bar with Etta James' sweet, sultry voice as I sipped my blue-colored fruity-girlie-drink. I stared blankly into the mirror behind the bar, behind the various colored bottles half-full of sweet, sweet liquor. And the only one who stared back at me was a lonely, blue eyed beauty, a woman who had two lovers at the time, but no love to speak of. The music filled her head with ideas, with sadness, and longing for a man who would love her as his Queen.

Could this be my last contribution to the Blaster – for today, at any rate? It's so addictive...(Hence my deep admiration for a past fellow-contributor, the Old Pirate, who appears to have written down all his pearls of wisdom in a single week in March 2001 – and then stopped forever....)

At this moment, this is the last entry to the Blaster.

Catch a falling star.

Let the memory of me in this world last only as long as the good I've done, the children I've taught, the flowers I've planted, and the pies I've baked.

last- maybe there can never be a last of anything until the end of the universe

In my living room I have on the coffee table a shoemaker's last. It's quite a conversation piece.

Will anything we write on this Blaster last? And if so, will it become the first line in somebody's book?

How long can the pain and the regret of a lost love last?