I hope you slept well...

Angel,

I hope that you slept well. I hope that sleep came easily and deep and restful.  Though your body, strong and straight, relaxed and repaired from the days labours. I can imagine a tumble of curls spayed on the pillow, the sound of your breath and the slow steady rise and fall of your chest. I can imagine a crooked arm over your head and fingers curled and still. I can imagine the curve of your spine and flare of your hip – a bent leg and a half turn toward the window.

If I let myself,  I can imagine you rolling over to press your back to me and let my arm circle you in – and the scent from your hair filling my senses and my dreams. I can imagine your legs pressed against the length if mine and feel a slow cat like arch of your back as you press against me. I can imagine the softness of your skin and the strength of your muscles. I know the sounds of the bed sheets as you turn further still and a sleepy sigh.

I hope that in your sleep and in your turnings that you dreamt, not of the mundane of the day past, or of tasks to be completed in the days to come. I hope that you dreamt of the wild and the large, of freedom and flight, of infinite colours and impossible wonders become real. I hope that you dreamt of holding happiness in your hands and new that there were no limits. I hope that you dreamt of languages and love. I hope that you dreamt of worlds and skies and everything between. I hope that you dreamt knowledge of all these things and of the people who you hold dear. I hope that you dreamt the way that I dream of you.

I hope that when you woke, the dreams stayed with you  - like a mist around your shoulders – curling and elusive and just beyond grasp, but with you all the same. I hope that you woke, straight backed and strong – rested and happy – an unknown and secret smile that comes from lifted spirits. I hope you woke knowing your beauty and sure in your place in the world. I hope that you stood the goddess and vision that you are - and moved with incredible grace – lines and arches and freckled skin… I hope you woke to the world and saw you - the way I see you.

Just me.

 

A little nervous...

Angel,

I have a confession...

I am a little nervous about tonight. I am nervous because I know what is going to happen. It will happen, and you may never see it - or if you do, perhaps you will not trust it... and if I tell you what will happen, you will not believe.

But this is what is going to happen...

You are going to enter the party and I will see you across a noisy and crowded room. Perhaps I will catch your eye, or perhaps you will not be able to pick me out of the crowd...

But in that moment where I first catch sight of you, all else will stop - everything else will vanish. Stopped time and silence but for the pounding in my chest and your slow smile as you move through the room...

I know that the room will change - air and light and sound - and in that moment when all else has fallen from this earth - I will fall too... My breath will stop and I will be filled with an ache of longing and desire. Your beauty like splintered light from diamonds, or stars reflected in a calm ocean... the kind of sudden beauty that steals a man’s ability to express what he has just seen... Time stopped catches a man helpless...

I will be held spellbound by your wonder until the whole world comes crashing back... The turn of your head, a smile, losing you in the crowd... the frozen moment broken and I am released though the effects will resonate through me the whole night... like trying to find your sea legs on a ship... the earth has changed under my feet and I am unsettled...

Later, I will hold you close - and that frozen moment will still be with me - the impossibility of this angel in my arms will rattle me to the core... I want to show you how you make me feel. I want to show you your impossible and wondrous light and beauty. I want you to feel as special as you make me feel. I want to make you undeniably happy. I hope that I can achieve it.

Just me.

Happy Anniversary - kind of anniversary...

To The Lady on the Train,

Five years ago today you changed my entire perception of the world with just a few words. It was like dropping a pebble into the ocean and the ring of ripples started by that pebble have been spreading since.

You have made me very happy. You have made me better.

With my whole heart,
Unconditionally,

I love you.

The Man in the Station

I wish I could tell you..

To The Lady on the Train,

I wish that I could tell you just how happy you make me. I wish that you could see how all negativity melts away from me - how all doubts vanish - after just a few minutes with you.

I wish you could see how you change the colours of the world wherever you go.

I wish you could see that for me, there is no other.

The Man in the Station

Walking home.

Angel,

It is a beautiful, clear but cool fall evening. In the heart of the city we have moulded and hammered earth and iron into glass clad towers. Limestone and polished marble buildings rise above the narrow streets, making the horizon vertical. On the street in late October, the only sky I can see is fragmented tracks of blue. It is just enough to let a sliver of dying sunlight lean up against the building on the corner. People waiting for the King car huddle in that brief warmth turning their faces to the sun, necks craned and coats opened up. Outside of that privileged patch, people draw themselves in, their breath visible in small white puffs.

I do not wait for the streetcar but make my way west along King, following the sun and blue ribbon of sky above me. I do not get far before the sun slides down beyond the lip of the world – in October the sun does not linger but sets fast. The temperature drops as the sky darkens at an alarming rate. Already the headlights, street lamps, and traffic signals shine with a harsh bright beauty. The cold air seems to splinter the light, makes it sharper in the eye.

Along King, past the tallest of buildings, past theatres and the street patios of restaurant row; past condos and parkettes; past the more moneyed part of the city, the buildings are older and shorter. Out of the city center, the heights of the buildings become lower; from the skyscrapers down to high-rises and finally down to two storied brick buildings of a bygone age. As King Street rises up and the buildings are shorter, one would expect the sky to become larger. One would expect a more open feel to the city, the kind of openness that comes with an expanding horizon.

The sky here is definitely larger then among the downtown skyscrapers - but it doesn’t feel like it. Here the sky feels close to the ground; more like a ceiling than an infinite expanse. Here everything is hunkered down and held close. Car tires slapping on rails, the distinctive streetcar squeal and grind and even my own footsteps sound loud and contained. There is a harsh brashness to the lights and sounds of this part of the city – perhaps it is the unexpected darkness and cold that has changed this street.

People waiting for busses or streetcars, stepping out from the glare of fast food restaurants into the street, and those of us trudging along the pale pavement have all pulled into ourselves. We do not look up. We do not greet each other. We simply drift past each other, lost to ourselves. It is as if we have collectively braced ourselves, holding our breath and waiting for something… It will be the first snowfall, or a wild wind – or perhaps it will wait until the magic of Christmas stirs us…

It is the harsh season – and we are waiting for it to break. We are waiting to exhale.

Just me.

Scented Oil..

To The Lady on the Train,

The memory of your body is printed by scent in our bed.

With scented oil and my palms press love into your skin. I felt it seep through, into your flesh. From my fingertips into the soft smooth strength of your back. From the pad of my thumb into the round of your buttocks. I left trails along the length of your arms and transferred from my forearms into your thighs and hips - and an arc of kisses from your navel to the small of your back as you turned underneath of me...

The oil from your skin, the full length of you rolled onto the sheets...

The scented shape of you lays there still, and fills me this night...

The Man in the Station

Happy Birthday, Love

Happy Birthday, Love.

You are more beautiful and stronger with every passing day. You continue to surprise and challenge me in so many ways. I am more and more in love with you through everything that we have gone through.

You are more precious than diamonds. You change light and sparkle - everything splintered in brilliance. You amaze me.

Wishing that I could find a way to make this day special for your and to find the right words to convey how special you are...

Wishing you all the happiness that you deserve, all the love that you need, and every birthday wish to come true. I love you.

Happy Birthday.

Just me.

Want...

To The Lady on the Train,

Sometimes when you get just a little bit of something it can make you want even more.

Sometimes I want too much.

The Man in the Station

We are thieves...

We are thieves Like naughty children in the corner store I will pilfer
an hour, maybe two – let it fall into my pocket unseen.
At home the stolen time tumbles out of my pocket
along with your naked form.
Pale arms and legs
stomach, bum and breasts rolling on the sheets
and your face turned up to me for a stolen kiss


This burgled treasure
secret and shared in a dark room
of early morning quiet
and here on this bed of love lust and longing
we steal from each other and give to each other
until fully consumed, split open like a pomegranate, red juices running down our chins
all our secrets and souls exposed
until there is nothing left to steal


We will lay here
content and holding onto each other
hoping to hold onto what remains of ourselves
until the first sliver of light on the ceiling
the first shard of the day
here to steal itself back and to push us out


The remaining day my stolen hour my secret

Where we are...

To The Lady on the Train,

I don't know where we are - but wherever that is - I know that I am beside you.

The Man in the Station

In your dreams...

Angel,

I hope that you slept well. And when you slept I hope you dreamt.  I hope that your dreams took you to secret places of wonder and beauty - the place in your heart where a secret candle burns, ambered light casting flickering shadows looming larger than your own body.

I hope you dreamt of swimming under a clear blue ocean - gliding and turning to run your hand along her smooth belly of a great whale as it swims above you - and to feel the power of its mighty tail as one final thrust propels it to a final farewell, in a wild current water and white bubbles.

I hope your dreams took you to flight - bursting through white clouds into a brilliant sky. Your outstretched fingers to touch the feathered wingtips of a golden eagle - sharp eyed, sharp beaked, and a piercing cry of triumph. I hope you soared high enough to see the world as a blue marble - a jewel on black velvet - and a million tiny diamond forever in every direction.

I hope you dreamed of holding the hands of loved ones - those who love you and watch over you. I hope that you spoke of all that you need to know. I hope that in your dreams you know that they are always there.

I hope that you dreamt of standing straight and tall and proud. I hope that you dreamt of your happiness and knowing where it was. I hope that you dreamt of all the beauty and wonders that are within you. I hope that you dreamt you.

Just me.

 

 

 

Owned...

To The Lady on the Train,

There isn't a part of me that you don't own. There isn't a part of my life where you don't fit.

The Man in the Station

Te o Toriatte

To The Lady on the Train,

Te o toriatte Kono mama ikō
Aisuru hito yo
Shizuka na yoi ni
Hikari o tomoshi
Itoshiki Oshie o idaki

From The Man in the Station

East Coast Camp

Angel,

In front of me is a small crackling fire of poplar and birch. Just behind me
is calm slow river. But for the very first yellow leaves of autumn landing
on its surface, you could hardly tell that it had a current - the surface
only broken into small ripples by the fish along the riberbanks.
In this part of the country, the mountains have been ground down to dark
rolling hills and the valleys are thick lush green lands of incredible
beauty. Early morning mists coil like magic. Until the sun turns the land to
an emerald streaked with the emerald blue river.

And there is sky here - high and blue, or ceilinged with clouds - but not
hemmed in by buildings and noise and choke of the city. Here, the sky
promises of an unknown treasure just over the horizon, just beyond where you
can see.

It is the promise of that treasure that calls the traveler ever forward. It
is what beckons to the heart of every adventurer. And all of us, nomads in
our own way, pursuing our own quiet desperate quests, we push forward toward
the next horizon.

We push forward until hunger or tiredness or some ache of loneliness calls
us to stop for a rest - which is when we discover that the smoke of our fire
rising above the treetops and drifting over a silent river signals that the
magic just over the horizon is actually right here.

Just me.

Concerning going away...

"I don't know why I ever went away" you sighed. Naked in our bed, far away eyes on the ceiling, your arm crooked and the back of your hand pressed to your forehead.

We had just made love - or were about to - and I was absorbed in the slow explorations of your body. Your voice drifted over us, a whisper that felt like it was meant more for yourself than for me. Thinking that it may have been an escaped thought, one not meant to have left your own musings, I did not respond.  I let it wash over us, drift away and vanish like vapour. 

The moment, like so many others between us, was perfect. Cocooned in a slow quiet and safe place, bare to each other but unafraid. I held onto this moment, willing it to last, letting my fingers run circles and patters across your soft skin.  I wanted to let sink into you all that I was feeling, pouring all of me out through the tips of my fingers and the fleshy palm of my hand, as if by osmosis the truth of my heart could be known to you.

I do not know why you go away - I cannot properly respond to you in any other manner but it the way in which I am in this moment. I know that you are here now, but you will go away again at some time - and then return bewildered at the time lost. 

I will stay as steady as I am able and wait for your return. These moments are worth waiting for you.

The Man in the Station

What shape your eyes?

To The Lady on the Train,

When next I see you, what shape your eyes? What colour will they hold?


I have seen your eyes in many shapes and hues, from bright shining half moons to oval soft coloured pools. I have seen the dark fire and flash of anger and the playful light of joy. I have seen the rise of eyebrows in the midst of discussions and the crinkle at the corners during laughter.


In your eyes I have seen you so close to me and in an instant I have watched you travel miles and years away. In your eyes I have seen you disappear from me completely and I have seen you open up and bare all to me. In your eyes I have seen heart wrenching sorrow and I have seen wondrous joy – and I have seen the two come together in the same instant.


From the narrow squint to the far-away drift, I have held you and watched you and tried to know you. In your eyes I have seen what you most wanted to hide and I have seen what you most needed to be seen. In your eyes I have seen the beckoning of a kiss, the need for distance, and the desire to be understood.


In all the shapes and colours of your eyes, I have fallen. 
In all the shapes and colours of your eyes, I am lost and I am found.


The Man in the Station

In your palm...

Angel,

You possess a beauty that turns my heart to brittle crystal. I feel that it would shatter to a million splinters but for being filled by love. Just as you do not know your own beauty, you are unaware that I have placed my heart into the palm of your hand.

Just me

Evening...

Angel,

The sun is starting to go down in the east. The sky, still blue but the light is pink and the shadows long. It is cooling but dead calm and quiet. The whole of this bay is a sheet of glass. It looks more like a lake than the Atlantic ocean. It feels as though one could paddle a canoe safely over the curve of the earth and arrive unharmed in Ireland - or Scotland, or France. 

From here it is difficult to imagine the hardships that the first settlers of this beautiful and wild land must have endured. This place has a beauty that holds ones imagination and captures ones heart. Our ancestors have at different times made their way to these shores. Families making their way in this new land - raising children - and their children - and their children - down through the generations. Families growing and settling and setting out to find new places to settle. 

It is impossible to imagine all of the paths that might have been taken and not taken that would allow for us to find each other. Our families, once settled here and then scattered to settle further west. We are not from this place, but we both have family here and feel a draw to it. 

One day we will discover this land for ourselves, traveling its hills and valleys, standing on its shores of cliffs and beaches. We will discover the wild and the tame of the place and know why it holds a person once they have been here.

One day we will come.

Just me

Morning...

Angel,

The morning has come, gliding silent like a canoe on a glass still lake. Fog has settled thick and where the night was black, the day is grey and close. One cannot feel the sun nor even tell with any true certainty where it hangs in the sky. We are hushed under a grey silk blanket. the clock chimes the passage of time faster than our reality. We are slow to move, outside no one stirs, there is no bird song. The few birds in flight seem to be nervous and in a hurry to be somewhere else.

I will amble down the road toward the beach, the shape of a man, hooded against the damp chill of the early morning.  Even the sound of my footsteps is muted and swallowed up by the closeness of the morning. Once on the beach, the sandals come off so that I can feel the cool wet sand.

You are 2000 kilometers away and yet you have been with me here the whole time. The morning hangs melancholy around my neck like a sorrow as I walk the length of the beach. To hold your hand as we walked through the thick fog would change its complexion and entirely. 

These rolling magical mists would be instantly transformed from something that has stolen the world from us to something that shelters us from the world for a little while. We would walk hand in hand leaving playful parallel footprints in the sand except where we have stopped to face each other to steal a private kiss. The cool damp would disappear in the warmth of your palm in mine. 

In this grey envelope, we are alone in the world for a moment - sand, sea, and us. We would know the weight and expanse of the ocean at our feet though all we can see is one unbroken water-sky with no horizon. The shore we stand on stretches for an eternity and follows its own unbroken distance. We would stand on this shore together, close, fingers entwined, the water lapping at our feet. We would stand tall knowing that this world belongs to us. 

Here, and the feel of your cheek next to mine and the scent of you mingled with the salt air... Here and you...

Just me

Beach walk

Early morning, a lonely beach, and the fog has rolled in. The bay is calm, small waves lapping at the shore in rhythmic whispers. From this patch of sand, I can see no horizon. The sea and sky are one grey distance, the only line between where I am and an empty universe is the shore immediately in front of me. If I dipped my toes in the water, I could swim up to the sky, the beach behind me to be swallowed up by the mist. I could walk to the water, push out, turning to float on my back – let myself drift to lands and worlds yet unimagined - leaving nothing but footprints in wet sand.


I continue walking along the beach, leaving a crooked line of footprints. When I reach the end of the beach, I will turn and follow my steps back like a trail of breadcrumbs. I marvel at my own inability to walk in a strait line. I will climb the rocks and dunes from the beach back up to the road, rising like a dark grey apparition. Unfolded out of the sea and mists to land firmly back on solid ground.

The way you sleep...

The way you sleep in our bed is the way mist rises from the lake.

Brief and still – a magical and mystical apparition – a pale beautiful ghost.

Curls splayed on the pillow – a wild stillness and your soft scent rising. Tangled hair disappears into the pillow, your face silhouetted, a cameo that would dash great ships on even greater rugged rocks, if commanded. The corner of your eye holds my gaze to travel the distance of your cheek then along your chin and around your cheek to the sacred place below your ear. Below the soft skin, the rhythmic pulse of your blood setting the beat and tempo of my own heart

Your hand, a white lily on tea coloured sheets, caressing the back of lover or smoothing your skirt on your thighs. Your delicate fingers with opal coloured nails do not move. I am drawn to your hand now, because your hands are always moving. But here in your sleep, they are motionless – in fact, but for your breathing you are so very peacefully still...

Your sharp shoulders, white, strong, freckled with constellations are turned toward the mattress. Your strong straight back disappears beneath the quilt. The rolling hills of the quilt hint of your body and there is enough knowledge in my hands to know your landscape. Watching you sleep now, I know the lines and shapes and feel of you. I can follow the taper of your waist and the flare of your hips. I know the shape and texture of your round bottom and the feel of your thighs. I know the taste of the back of your knee and the feel of my lips pressed to your toes.

I cannot help but want to freeze this moment. I want to suspend it like hanging a Christmas ornament from a tree. Perfect, enclosed, beautiful in it's fragility – a place where my eye can wander to hold this moment. I want to find you here every time wake up. I want your heart to be anchored to this place, a bay sheltered from any storm.

Knowing that this moment cannot last for as long as it deserves to, knowing that the press of time and obligations will soon stir the calm surface of this sleeping still lake, and knowing that I am undeniably drawn to you... I place my hand over yours – sinew, bone, muscle, and flesh – and a wonder, held in my own hand. I place my lips to your temple, breath you in for a soft moment – and here I could stay an eternity... The mist rises from the stillness and is evaporated away by the sun... and you stir.

The way you sleep in our bed is the way mist rises from the lake...

Toward the end of August...

To The Lady on the Train,

The slide to mid August has brought noticably shorter days and suddenly cooler nights. Although this city is beseiged by construction at every corner, the level of traffic seems suddenly less frenzied. Perhaps less humidity and cooler temperatures have relaxed us a little - we no longer are irritated under a cruely oppressive sky.

I will drive you home - pushing our way slowly through the city and then opening up when we hit the highway. We will talk and I will hold your hand or rest it on your knee. We will be comfortable and easy with each other. But I will also hold in my thoughts and not say the words that I wish that I could say.

We will be away from each other for a while... and all I want is for you to come with me... I want to tell you how much I will miss you - but I can't.

I think that you know it though. I think that you can feel it.

The Man in the Station

After the dance..

Angel,

The party is over - the music has stopped playing and the lights have come on. We are pressed into service to help tidy the hall up a little.. I am tipsy and though initially I do not feel like it - because I want the night to continue - we have made the helping out fun.

We did not dance. We did not kiss. We did not touch. But I did watch you.. I looked at you and your beauty absolutely filled me.. I watched another couple wed and wanted that to be us. I watched you dance with others and wished that it could be me that you held on to as we turned slowly.

At the end of this night, all I wanted was to take you back to my room... I wanted to lay you down and kiss you long and slow... I wanted to explore - to wrap you up and to be wrapped up...

I wanted to fall asleep beside you with you in my arms and to wake up beside you. I wanted it enough that I could feel it.

I ached wanting you.

I ache wanting you still.

Just me.

Union Station...

To The Lady on the Train,

If you spend any amount of time in Union station, you learn that the building has its own life. The people move in flows and waves with a rhythm and pulse dictated by this great beast... It is like being caught in the belly of a whale, the arched ceiling both amplifying echoed sound and muffling it..  The rumble and clang of unseen trains as they pull into and out of the station - anticipated and fearful.. They sound like creaking bones and you almost expect the whole place to slowly roll over..

You are never physically alone in Union Station, nor are you present with the crowd. We are all simply caught up like so many krill. It is ironic how one can find solitude among the waves of people moving through this station - but it is why I come here...

This station anchors the city - it is the push-pin that holds Toronto in its place against Lake Ontario. Commuters from bedroom communities and travellers off to farther destinations ebb and flow thorough here. I am comforted by the rhythms of traffic and noise and the breath of the place. She isn't young any more and she has changed over the years... but the bones of her are still strong and grand..

In a quieter corner, a slow observer amid the throb, waiting... The Man in the Station.

Lost..

To The Lady on the Train,

There is a man here in the station and he looks like he has just lost his best friend.

I told him to make sure that the Lady on the Train knows that he will alwasy be waiting in the station for her.

The Man in the Station

Here...

To The Lady on the Train,

I don't know where you are...

I know that you have much on your mind and that there is much to take up your time and energy. I know that these things create a distance greater than any stretch of highway or flight of stairs that might be between us. I know that the distance it takes to push a send button on a text is far greater than the twitch of a thumb. Maybe you need this distance, and I can understand and respect it - I don't even need you to respond to this message. I want you to know where I am though. Whenever you want or need, for whatever you want or need - I am here - and will remain here.

Always...

The Man in the Station

A Landscape..

Angel,

There is landscape of continents, countries and territories - ever changing, wild and tame, dangerous and safe, known and unknowable...

I have travelled the flat plains of your stomach and crossed the freckled fields of your shoulders and back...

I have been lost in the wild tubmling curls of your hair, finally emerging by the  jewelled lobe of an ear...

I have roamed the rolling hills of your buttocks and traversed the valley between the twin peaks of your breasts..

I have drowned in the depths of your eyes, wandering and in wonder - never wanting to leave...

I have swum through the waves of your toes and scaled ankles and knees...

I have traced the lines and patterns across your skin - following time-forgotten migrations...

I have bowed to press my forehead to your lower back as a devotee at an altar...

I have gathered in a universe when I scooped my arm around your waist to pull you close - an infinity contained in the rise and fall of your breath and in the rhythm of your heart...

There is a landscape - known, forgotten, rediscovered, charted and uncharted - and forever, a changing mystery...

There is you.

Just me.

 

 

If I could show you...

To The Lady on the Train,

If I could show you all that I see in you, then I could show you my heart...

The Man in the Station

The world should see..

To The Lady on the Train,

I want to show the world just how amazing you are. I want the world to see you the way that I see you - beautiful, rare, and wondrous...

The Man in the Station

A ride home...

To The Lady on the Train,

A hot car, windows down, your iPod and your hand in mine... I was grinning like a fool with my incredible luck and happiness at having you by my side...

The Man in the Station

Summer Rains...

Angel,

Between the wild rains with lightning and thunder and the storms promised for today...
Between an evening turned to dark by thick clouds and another evening that will close in on this city...
Between streets turned to rivers and the threat of more flooding to come...
Between these summer storms, one past and one promised...
We have this morning..

The air is heavy and pregnant with moisture. Low clouds and mists are pushed across the lake and through the city. The air clings to the body and motion is more like swimming through water.. Yet, compared to the night, this morning is cool and the breeze is welcomed. The birds are singing in this early dawn... The sky frosted and it's diffused light casting no shadows..

The quiet waiting between storms.

As the sun rises and the sidewalks heat up, it will steam and stifle. The clouds will pile and darken until so laden that they must fall. Perhaps this rain will not be so wild. Perhaps it will be the fat warm drops of a perfect summer rain - heavy and fast and coming straight down from the sky...

Perhaps you will be caught out in this rain - soaked to the skin in moments - hair flattened and matted to your skin. Rivulets running down your bare arms and drops bouncing off your skin -  goosebumped at the thrill and face turned up and washed...

Perhaps as the sidewalks and roads puddle as you make your way home, drenched shoes, clothes and hair clinging - perhaps your step will lighten at the childlike joy of being caught in the rain... Beautiful, radiant and playful in a summer rain..

Perhaps one day I will get to see you in the rain.

Just me.

Desire...

To The Lady on the Train,

Whenever I look at you, all I see is all that I desire.

The Man in the Station

City Summer...

Angel,

We are now in the early summer with its unsettled weather of sunny and hot or heavy rains...The city has sped up and is ground to a halt under the weight of traffic congestion and construction... Everyone is in a hurry to get nowhere fast...

Summer in the city can be stifling and oppressive... 

It is in the early mornings, before the heat of the day and our shadows are puddles beneath us, that we can find a serenity in this city. Those of us up before the sun move a little slower and appreciate the blanket of eerie quiet. Even the birds seem to be waiting in silence until some unknown signal that turns everything to crowding and chaos.

Today though we will not see much sun, but have our heads bowed or hooded against the rain. Although cooler, the rain makes everything stick to the skin and flattens hair. And because we cannot revel in it, all we want to do is to find some escape...

As I am pulled into the heart of the city, my mind drifts to where I would rather be - even with this exact same weather... to be on a canoe in the warm rain is magical - especially in the early morning... There is a noise and a quiet; motion and stillness, light and dark... water above you and below you... and a joy that bubbles up wanting to escape as laughter...

As my mind drifts, I see you in the bow with the paddle across your lap - back straight, bare armed and beautiful - your head tilted back to face the sky - your hair wet and sticking to your back. You turn to look back at me - brilliant dark eyes and a face smiling with such happiness that it is contagious. We don't speak because the rain makes it difficult to hear - but words are not needed.

We will play in the rain - drenched and goose-bumped - until we are driven back to shelter by weather, hunger, or fatigue. When finally under roof and dry, curled and wrapped in a large towel, I will bring food to you and coffee and myself. We will sit close and talk of anything and everything... and the glow of morning lingers..

Just me..

A biased life...

To The Lady on the Train,

I will call you beautiful - which is not even close to what I see...  and you will call me biased as a response..

I could argue with you until blue in the face and neither of us will be closer to agreeing...

So I will have to live a biased life... because you are truly beautiful.

The Man in the Station

A thousand little moments...

To The Lady on the Train,

Over the past few days there have been a thousand little moments where I wanted to reach out to touch you - to be able to take your hand in mine as we walked - or to trace the line and curve of your spine...I wanted to brush your hair from the back of your neck, feel you tilting to expose more of your neck to me as I placed a slow soft kiss below your ear... I wanted to feel the contradictory softness and strength of your beautiful freckled shoulders...

I wanted you to sit beside me, turning away from me so that you could lean back rest against me...  letting me envelop you and fold you into my arms - and be enveloped in the feel and scent of you... I wanted to hear your voice soft and quiet as we talked - or to hear you sing quietly to yourself... or letting you put your head back to sleep while I watched the sunlight light your face... 

As we rode in the car, I stole glances of you sleeping - your beauty so near and so distant, it left me with an ache.

I lay in bed in my room and thought about you laying in your room... I imagined what it would be like to have you beside me... I imagined the lines, curves, and the curl of you against me... I imagined the press of my palm to your hip, and the sensation of my fingertips exploring your back... I thought about my lips on the back of your knees.. I imagined my cheek resting in the small of your back, and reaching to entwine our fingers...

I imagined the length of you pressed to me and in the darkness we drifted together...

There were a thousand little moments I wanted to show you my wonder of you - and my desire for you...

The Man in the Station

In my dreams...

To The Lady on the Train,

I see your face every night when I close my eyes and dream of you. One day I hope to open my eyes in the morning to find you there...

From The Man in the Station

I have seen you...

Angel,

I have seen you in the filtered light of early morning through drawn shades. Your body beside mine, head cradled in the crook of your arm and the sound of your breath close...

I have followed your lines and charted constellations in the freckles on your white skin.. I have fallen through your universe as the palm of my hand explored the contradictory softness of your skin and strength of your body. I have felt your body simultaneously come alive with tension and yet surrender to the press of my lips at the back of your neck..

I have also seen you in a harsh slant of bright sunlight - illuminating perfectly every detail of your face. Your head bent in a thought, the curls of your hair tumbling forward and your hand entwined in mine. The ridge of your nose, the wet of your lips, and the depth and shape of your brown eyes are felt as much as seen. From the line of your jaw and arch of your neck to your impossibly soft cheeks, I am distracted by your beauty.

I have seen you in light that changes as you move and a force of magic that changes the air in a room.. I have seen you hold that magic and not even know that you possess it. You, a radiant beauty at a rough wooden table with the smell of garden and sounds of a city drifting in from the backyard... All softness and warmth and completely filled with a quiet joy...

I have seen you in these lights and in these places... I can see them all in my mind, sometimes one after the other - sometimes jumbled together... always changing - an ebb and flow... You are a miracle...

I have seen you...

Just me..

Still...

To The Lady on the Train,

I will always be in the station for you.

The Man in the Station

one morning, maybe...

Angel,

One morning, maybe you will wake up very very early. You will have packed all of your bags the night before so that you do not have to think about anything.. You rise from the bed in a darkened room, slow and quiet - letting slumber fall from your limbs as you move to get dressed...

You will walk quiet through your house, bags and keys in hand. Without combing your hair or brushing your teeth or even fully waking up, you will climb into your car. The car sounding loud in the still and silence of the neighbourhood as you back out of the drive. Yawning and waking up, you head into the city.

And maybe on this morning you will pull into the parking lot, park the car and head up to a man and a bed that are waiting for you. I will hear your key in the door and hear you as you step into a dark apartment. Bags and coat placed on the sideboard and removing of clothes as you enter the bedroom.

I will be aware of you and follow your movements by sound, but I will pretend to stay asleep as I feel your naked form slide under the white sheets. I will adjust as you settle into the pillows and press your back to my chest. My arm wrapped around you, hands held - the scent of you filling me as I place a kiss on the back of your neck...

Here we will drift for a while just so that we can wake in each other's arms...

Here we will steal a little time and taste what might have been...

Just me.

Beside you...

Angel,

I do not know if you will ever see this... I do not know if it is something that you want or need to hear... I don't know if in some way it is best for you to not hear it right now...

But this message is here, if ever you should need it.

I can see the hurt and sadness in you. I can see where it is being held in, and where it is escaping you... I can see your tenderness and the wanting to let go. I can see the strength in you too - especially your strength. I can see that those who do not know you, will not see your pain.

I know how big the feelings are that you are feeling - and I know that you will push through. I know that you will want to push through on your own and on your own terms.

I don't know how you do what you do.

Seeing you now, every fiber in me so badly wants to help carry some of your pain or offer some comfort. I wish that I could help but I know that to try would only make it worse for you. All I can offer is me and whatever comfort my company might provide.

I will leave you to handle your hurt as you need to - you know where I am and how to reach me - and I will forever be exactly where I belong - even if you cannot see me...

Beside you...
Always..

Just me.

April Storm

Angel,

Spring has come and with it the early rains and unsettled weather. We have come through a wild night of winds, rain, ice, and snow. And though the morning has come it is still dark and wild. The smaller birds have stopped their singing and flitting about. They have all found some warmer, drier shelter to wait out these winds.

I would have you here to wait out this weather with me. I would have you in this dark room listening to the wild winds outside while we remain warm and sheltered. I want to feel your back pressed to my chest, my arm around you, and your curls on my cheek. I want to feel the warmth of you against the length of me. I want to touch your smooth freckled skin and breath in your scents that fill the room.

But mostly I want to hear the rhythm of your breathing and the sweet sound of your voice as we talk.

We sill know the slow quiet safety and comfort of this room. We will take shelter from the rush of cold wind and rain. We will let the rest of the world turn for a while without us. Here we will find a place to rest, heal a little, gather ourselves together and each other up.

I would have you here - all of you - just as you are - and with you find a place to shelter for a while.

Me.

Surprising...

To The Lady on the Train,

That you do not believe your own incredible beauty is one of the most surprising and endearing qualities about you. There are times when I fall into your beauty and could be lost forever - and there are times when I want to lift you into my arms and hold you wrapped up.

The Man in the Station

Happy Valentine's Day

To The Lady on the Train, 

I wish that you could see how I feel whenever I look at you. I do not know what it was that turned your eyes my way, but I am glad that they did. 

With all my love I wish you our Happy Valentine’s Day. 

Covering you. 

Always. 

The Man in the Station.