not so very solitary, anymore

WE MEET THAT evening, and I am soaking wet. You rise from the bed and ask how work and the day went. So I tell you.

I undress and join you.  I laugh. I tell you how glad I am, finally, relieved of wearing these shoes. They're very uncomfortable shoes, I say.

I am happy to be out of these clothes.

And so we stay in bed and linger.  Let our souls breathe. Take in a lot of each other.  I absorb you, and you, me.  I take my time and stare and stare at your beautiful beautiful face.

Later, and over dinner, we laugh. I tell you again of how I love hearing you laugh.

Still later, I look at your eyes, all sullen and sad. I tell you this, of this sadness about you. You smile.

What is the matter, I ask. But you just smile and say nothing.

So we move on to other, more pleasant things.



YOU ASK ME ABOUT CERTAIN things. Things which pertain to my reasons for happiness. Things which continue to be unclear to you.  You remind me of my promise to be truthful, to not be vague. So I tell you.

I begin with your question on reason for my happiness. You are here, after all, I say. And I am, too.

I tell you of the journey of the thirty-seven years it took for my soul to find you.

I tell you of the endless rains.

I tell you of the fires that burn in me. I tell you of the other dreams I let go. I tell you of the dreams which replaced them.

I tell you of the hopes that went and died. I tell you of the hopes that returned.

I tell you of the now-somewhat-silly past I had. I tell you of how little it means to me, now.

I see you fall asleep, in my arms. And so even more softly, I tell you of the love I keep and share with you.



IN THE MORNING, I see you gone. You rise early, I remember, for work. So I take to the breakfast, and tidying up the place, I see your stacks of books.

I see your shoes.

I see your work area, the closet, the clothes you wear.

I see your perfume bottles, and shampoos, and creams and lotions.

I see your mugs.

I come back to bed, thinking to read. Instead I see the pillows, and the sheets. For a moment I recall this story about this ring of fire and my choosing to burn. And then I remember the errands, and things needing to get done, elsewhere. So I sigh, shower, and dress.

I absorb everything I could. I take mental photographs of all the things I see.



IN THE AFTERNOONS and after errands we meet again. We eat and talk, and talk some more. I forget now about what. Ah, the future. Yes, I remember. We laugh, now. How happy we are. How filled with joy.

In bed, later, you sleep and I read your letters, left open. I read my replies. I read your replies to my replies. I smile.

The evening before, you ask me of my happiness.

It is you. It is me. It is us, both. How strange for an explanation to be both simple and yet so hard for me to explain.

When you touch me, like so.

When you look at me, like so.

When you cry and run to me.

When you share with me those great news.

And I lay beside you and watch you sleep. How innocent you are, really, of my feelings for you. Thoughts run and rise and ebb in me, my love.

I watch you sleep. I remember one thing you said, several evenings past. "I am sad, for those things that happened to us."

At the time I fall silent and said nothing, but pressed your hands and hugged you.

My feelings are different, you see. They have changed. I am happy, now. The things that we have and share now. The things we still are going to share and will have, still.

Forever is real. And love is all there is, too. How simple things all are, really.