Emptying...

To The Lady on the Train,

I have sprung a leak somewhere for try as hard as I try to hold on, drop by drop, you are ebbing away from me. The space that is left behind, the places in my heart, and the memories that are slipping away like a train pulling away from the station cannot be filled back up. I am like a balloon that is slowly becoming deflated. I walk around with a huge hole in the middle of everything. Time blunts feelings and fades memories and trying to hold on is like swimming with all of your clothes on. And the feeling sucks.

The Man in the Station

Always...

Tapestry...

Angel,

To each of us is attached the thread of time. As we move through our lives pulling this string behind us: as we weave in and out of all that we do or do not do, decisions that we make, the thoughts that we hold, and in the shapes of vowels and consonants that we use in the inadequate instruments of our languages to label and define our world: in all of our interactions with friends, family, lovers, strangers, and everyone that we brush up against; as we make our way through this life given to us and in this world that we shape - we impart a colour to our past. We colour our thread of time with everything that we do or do not do, and this thread is woven into the past like a great tapestry.

The threads of each and every one of us gets woven into the tapestry of time past - together, all of us - just as we are all together in this life and we are all connected. We all are a part of its making and we are all responsible for what is yet to be woven. Once the past is woven, in whatever colour gets put in stays a part of this permanent record; forever unchanged. But we can move and act and think deliberately to make our threads beautiful to look at. We can live our lives in ways that add to the beauty of the tapestry - our small threads can be the places where small flecks of colour can be seen.

I know that when I have run out of time and reached the end of my thread and I get to look back on the life that I have lived that there will be places that are not easy to look at. There will also be places and times where I have acted with brilliance. I know that examining the length of my thread that there will be times where I have held black thoughts, mistreated or hurt people, or acted less than honourably. And along my thread there will be times where I can see generosity of spirit, love, and good honest deeds. From this moment on, it is a happier thread that I want to weave; one that will when I look back on it, I can be proud. It is a choice that is given to each of us.

My thread will be woven into the tapestry alongside of everyone else - friends, family, strangers - everyone. When I look at the cloth being woven on the giant loom, what will I see? Will all of the colours melt into uniform brown or grey? Will I notice the flecks of colours throughout? Will I be able to see the ebb and flow of all of the lives that have lived and are being lived? Will the colours of all humanity be difficult to look at or will they be bright and wondrous?

I know the tapestry that I want to see. I will do my part to weave what I want.

Just me.

Entropy...

Since we have drifted there is a huge hole in the middle of my life. Vacuums do not exist for long and what rushes in to fill the void is just an ache. Time once spent in happiness is now just measured in sighs and the flashes of coffee spoons. Perhaps it is just entropy... Perhaps it is way things were meant to be...

Come what may I will love you...

Always...

...

Always...

The Wrap...

Angel,

The white terry cloth wrap that you would use after showering remains the last item of yours that gets packed away. Perhaps it is because it hangs on the back of a door that I never close - out of sight, out of mind. Perhaps it is because I want to leave some secret reminder of you - a corner where a piece of you can hang undisturbed like a memory of you that I can always hold in the corner of my mind. The wrap hangs there and it still holds your scent.  I have from time to time, during sleepless nights, or when a twisting ache takes me in the chest, swung the door so that I can bury my face into the folds of the cloth. I have let you fill me once again as I stand barefooted on the cold black and white tiles. I have let you fill me before going back to bedsheets soaked with my sweat. I have let you fill me and I cannot tell you if it a happiness or a torture - it feels like both.

This morning I thought that I might pack away your wrap. I thought that I would hide it away with your shampoos and conditionioners; with your hair dryer and curling iron; with your slippers. I thought that I would pack the wrap away and hope that I will be unpacking everything someday. After removing the wrap from it's hook I shook it so as to fluff it before folding it away. This was done over the tub to catch any dust that might fall - and there it was... a single strand of brown curl. I used to find your hair everwhere - tub, sink, floor, pillow, couch. I could sweep and 10 minutes later find more. Oh - I am not complaining! I loved finding traces of you everywhere and at the most unexpected times. I stared into the tub at this single strand of your fallen hair and I was struck.

I turned from the tub, leaving it just as it was, and returned your wrap to the hook - its rightful place. I will leave the wrap there. It waits for you.

Just me.

You...

Seeing me...

I wouldn't mind forever...

When last I held you...

Angel,


When last I held you the trees had not yet greened. Oh, there was promise on the limbs – hints of young pale green buds and thin barked lengthening of limbs...


When last I held you the earth still still held cold beneath our feet and held the scent of ice though the breezes warmed.


When last I held you the arc of the sun was still low but the days were lengthening. Though the strength of the sun grew our shadows still angled long before us under a thin blue sky. We embraced the warmth and the promise of more to come...


When last I held you we discovered excellent pizza and cold beer in a strange town... Serendipity follows our footsteps...


When last I held you we gave ourselves to each other freely...


When last I held you we opened up to be us. We were brave enough to be us...


When last I held you we were happy


The Man in the Station