a moment has elapsed. a year. two, three. on this side of the divide the air is thinner. it tastes better but it's harder to breathe.
how to sum up an ever-changing lifetime in a page? I guess that's always been the challenge. today it seems easier than before and I revel in the feeling that my words have a place to go, not just an empty space to fill.
I have lived this part, I know its crinkled eyes and the creases in its hands and the way it sighs in the middle of the night. I know the words to use to make it real to you, to cement it in my memory.
reading back through the pages I have left here I see the patterns I could never see then. the distractions I sought, the detours I took, the loves I lived for that were never right... the one that was.
one cold morning, the only sun we saw in february shining, I took all the memories these words had danced around and I folded them between my shaking hands and I tied them in ribbons and I put them in the calloused hands of a boy I promised to love forever. I had directed my promises inward when his head was turned, but with his eyes finally on mine it was a relief to place them aloud into his safekeeping, to see them shining back.
the trees around us were dormant, their leaves a graveyard on the road, but our love that day set the air on fire.
and now? the days are slower now, to be sure. no more frantic grasping, no more high drama, no more will-they-ever-wont-they-never but just the quiet sigh of "yes" infused in our every day.
yes, we lived those days. yes, they broke us open and spilled what was left of us across the road for everyone to see. are we the sum of those pieces now? are we the same? of course not. this is no frankenstein story.
we live. together, we live. and because of that simple fact our story will continue to be written and written and written, and...
how to sum up an ever-changing lifetime in a page? I guess that's always been the challenge. today it seems easier than before and I revel in the feeling that my words have a place to go, not just an empty space to fill.
I have lived this part, I know its crinkled eyes and the creases in its hands and the way it sighs in the middle of the night. I know the words to use to make it real to you, to cement it in my memory.
reading back through the pages I have left here I see the patterns I could never see then. the distractions I sought, the detours I took, the loves I lived for that were never right... the one that was.
one cold morning, the only sun we saw in february shining, I took all the memories these words had danced around and I folded them between my shaking hands and I tied them in ribbons and I put them in the calloused hands of a boy I promised to love forever. I had directed my promises inward when his head was turned, but with his eyes finally on mine it was a relief to place them aloud into his safekeeping, to see them shining back.
the trees around us were dormant, their leaves a graveyard on the road, but our love that day set the air on fire.
and now? the days are slower now, to be sure. no more frantic grasping, no more high drama, no more will-they-ever-wont-they-never but just the quiet sigh of "yes" infused in our every day.
yes, we lived those days. yes, they broke us open and spilled what was left of us across the road for everyone to see. are we the sum of those pieces now? are we the same? of course not. this is no frankenstein story.
we live. together, we live. and because of that simple fact our story will continue to be written and written and written, and...
