You will never know...

Angel,


As much as you know, there are some things that you will never know. 

You will never know what it's like to fall in love with a beautiful woman. 

You will never know what it's like to have just the silhouette of her steal your breath. 

You will never know how seeing the way that light attaches itself to her and changes colours. 

You will never know what it's like to be lifted to impossible heights by the sound of her voice. 

You will never know what it's like to have your heart skip at the buzz of a text from her. 

You will never know how the world can wrap itself into the shape of her eyes. 

You will never know. 


Just me.

Sleep well...

Angel,

I hope that tonight when you lay down to sleep that the cares and worries of the day fall from your shoulders. I hope that you can sigh with an inner content, in the knowledge that you've been a positive force in the world, and knowing that tomorrow brings the promise of your potential to shine. I hope that you know that you have given love and received love and that there is no greater force for good in this world. I hope that when you sleep, your spirit and body are renewed; and your dreams take you to the places that bring you happiness. 

Sleep well. 

Just me. 

Talismans...

Angel,

I carry with me three small items. They are kept safe and close and hidden, tucked into pocket. They are tokens given in a different time and held now at times when I want to remember, though I cannot forget. My hand will brush against one of these items, or they may be gathered up together to be held briefly. These small items; an earring, a ring, a shell, are talismans with magic that can transport me to a better place and time.

In a breath I can find myself back in your office, your eyes dark, your slender fingers reaching up to your ear, unclasping the small gold hoop in your ear. We were taking our first tentative steps together on a path unknown. By this token, the path would be for us, wherever it may lead.

The shell was given and received in recognition of time spent apart though our hearts and thoughts kept us close. It was our way to share time and sun and a beach that we could not walk together.

Of the three, the ring, I hold most precious. It carries with it much of my heart and has the most power to move me - to sadness and to happiness. I keep these with me, and in some way, I keep you with me.

Just me.

Ghosts on Trains and in Stations...

To The Lady on the Train, 

I used to linger in the belly of the station as the train pulled you away from me toward your home. It was you who first used the name Lady on the Train. You said that she was crying. I said that there was a man in the station who was crying too. I no longer remember why we were crying, but I clearly remember that I felt like something inside was tearing apart.  That was the start of the Lady and the Man. 

I no longer know if I can call you The Lady on the Train. You drive as often as ride; the schedules and rhythms that we once both knew are no longer ours. Union Station no longer watches over our greetings and partings. It is like we have separate moons; the tides that ebb and flow through your life are different from mine. My moon has wobbled into a strange orbit, pulling the waters of my life unpredictably; I no longer know high tide from low. 

I have written my heart to the lady and have been lucky to have had the lady to write to. It is for the lady that I write. Since I no longer know when the lady is on the train, we do not walk together, our heads bowed to talk; since then, all of the words have dried up inside of me. They have turned to dust and blown away. A hole opened up inside of me; the wind blew in to scattering everything and then the tides flooded in to drown what was left. Still, the flotsam sloshes inside. Words have not been among them.

I will have to find a new way to write, if I am to write. I am still The Man in the Station; my ghost still sits on a bench there. Perhaps the ghost of The Lady still rides the train. Perhaps the dust of  forgotten words will blow their way to the flood around my knees and somehow reconstitute into something I can use.

To The Lady on the Train,

I will forever be...

The Man in the Station