Saturday, 10. January 2015

The Space of Forevers

Meeting you has reminded me of the space of forevers…

Remember when you were a child and summertime lasted a lifetime-

The newness of everything-

When everything felt just a little bit slower and safer.

I remember my first kiss

My first summer of kissing

Everything was an experiment

And it wouldn’t go past kissing

This past decade it’s all been so fast, so sloppy

This urgency that time’s running out.

I’m in my mid-thirties and suddenly there’s the question of babies

And we don’t’ have time to wait and linger and see

We live in a space of fast thinking, fast images, click-click-click.

Taking our time is reserved for the elderly, the ones forced to hobble

The sick, and the lame.

I cherish when I’m sick. When I slow down and look out the window and watch

The shadows on my wall, the sunlight on my covers.

You are different. Today you said, “Okay,” when I said “I’m tired of restaurants.”

We took a long walk into nowhere and watched the clouds. And the neverending procession of the ducks.

I love hearing you laugh at the small things, at how we notice the small things

Together.

I love that I’ve seen you so many times now and still the hug is new

That I live for just inhaling you for a second

That touching hands is delicious and somehow

Forbidden.

I miss the slowness of the tension, of that feeling that we don’t need to rush, that

Its summer and we have forever and we don’t even have a fear for After-forever because somehow we’re young again, we don’t have to think about budgets and

Taking care of ourselves and being practical and saving up for the future. Nobody’s died yet, our heart hasn’t had it’s first of endless breaks.

Today we somehow teleported ourselves back into the brink of the first forever

While we were watching ducks. Me watching you in awe and glee at their

Straight-backed scurrying, quacking about a problem in the mud.

You reminded me of my first forever, his name was Evan. My hearing as a child wasn’t so good so I always thought his name was “Heaven.”

He showed up when I was 3 and I lost my Heaven after I turned 6. But somehow he showed up in you today, the angle of the sun, my first friend who was my friend, who saw me not as a girl but someone who was beyond gender, with a heart, who found the same pleasure in walking barefoot in the mud on a cloudy day on the edge of dusk and rain.

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