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We’ve always had that thing. Some may have called it too good to be true. He called it once in a lifetime. I’ll call it a story of threes. He always did like 3s…
It’s charm and chemistry and conflict.
It’s ishes and kisses and nods.
It’s his breath on my skin. Wanting to be held. And learning to like holding hands.
It’s turkeys and tigers and tiny spoons.
It’s the universe and databases and running the gamut.
It’s butterflies and Buckley and Bend….Oregon.
It’s always. And never. And not soon enough.
It’s sunshine and sighs and snapchats.
It’s the universe and missing him and showing up.
It’s playlists and pennies and pineapples.
It’s mochi to Michigan, his hands through my hair - and a garden from the World’s Fair.
It’s tradition and trains and twelve second phone calls.
It’s riverwalks and midnight monsoons and wouldn’t-change-a thing-kind-of-perfection.
It’s a mindfuck. It’s magic. It’s misery.
It’s him. And it’s me. And that’s us.
So – here’s to love. To the mess we’ve made. And to doing it all over again.
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A boy and a girl walk into a store - they separate for a bit but don’t get too far from one another / as they move about they pick up little trinkets and smile or smirk with each item that rests in their palm / each casting a knowing glance at the other that may not be looking or want the other to notice that they are / everything on the tables, shelves and walls of this magical place somehow symbolizes something about them. Something about the other or about their relationship. But they’re all also things that only they know
And after they were done / the boy grabbed the girl’s shoulder and said “baby, what’s your favorite thing in this store?” She glanced around. Picked up a few of the trinkets and quickly set them down. She set her eyes on something in the corner, something neither of them had seen and she nodded. “Mmmhmmm. That. That Is my favorite thing.” The boy glanced at it. Read what was there - smiled and nodded affirmatively.
As they were walking to the door / the girl looked at the boy and she said “honey bear, what’s your favorite thing in this store?” Without hesitation, he looked her in the eye and said “baby. You are.”
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We’d fill empty rooms and crowded streets with sighs and silent pauses
as we started to stare
A lot.
But not at each other.
Not yet.
At least not at the same time.
Instead we’d stare
at the ground and walls,
sidewalks or the light of the the night shining through the windows,
or at whatever we’d wished was in our empty hands,
the other’s mostly.
For a few random seconds we’d glance up,
our eyes less nervously shifty,
would lock,
both of our bottom lips bitten tightly closed to keep hidden
what we wanted to say but weren’t sure
how to put into words -
and for those fragments of time
we knew.
That was March through May.
That was parkas through rain coats.
That was June and a fraction of July.
The calendar would turn,
the seasons would change -
and we’d end every single day by walking away.
Full but empty.
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I had a soup I think you’d like today - i know i know, you don’t like soup - but this was a creamy tortellini soup and the base wasn’t tomato as I’d expected … but an alfredo-like cream & garlic base that was pretty fucking out of this world! I think you’d love it bud.
At around 2 o’clock I decided to go for a walk - not along the river or to the bench - figured that would be a little much after our talk yesterday and I really didn’t want to be alone there; instead i walked down Broadway to Kickapoo. I sat there for a bit - at the table we sat at the day of a major major struggle and as I got up to leave and head over the knoll something overtook me and I had this completely unfamiliar feeling - i was alone. And even though i was in fact by myself, I think that I always carried you with me or next to me or within me - and at that exact moment I had this sense that you weren’t there just then. It was sad, but it wasn’t scary and as I sat at the knoll for 20 minutes or so - part of you came back. You were still there, next to me looking out onto Broadway - i didn’t know how long you’d stay or if it was the same you that was always there - but it was you and everything was ok.
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So I’ll leave the concert early because I want to go to our bench when it’s quiet and the light is just right. To let go. It’s just me … and you’re here of course - letting go .. saying ‘you’re literally my everything and I’ll never get over you.’
And i’ll climb the seven flights anyway because after a long stroll on the riverwalk - there’s no reason not to. And while there, staring out at a sky empty of airplanes but full of stars I think about how …
We used to wait. Patiently. For moments in time where we could be alone. Subtle. The gifts we’d have for each other tucked away tightly in a pocket - the meaning of them so great and the sentiment only something we’d know. We’d always smile - look down at the ground knowing that what we were carrying was infinite and something that no amount of money could buy. These gifts we clutched and held so close were eternal and no matter how many seconds, minutes, days, weeks, or months would come between us - they were ours. This. You and me. Us. That was the greatest gift all along. We made it. And nothing can take that away. Never just a short moment or a blip but always … once in a lifetime.
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You were waiting to get screened. I was there. It was nothing. Thank God it was nothing. You said you weren’t nervous but your uneaten cookie told a different tale. The delivery man told you you had kind eyes; if he’d only known the half of it.
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