Of these things you are made of...

Angel,

You are made of magic and stardust;

You are made of light and steel;

You are made of purpose and love;

Of all these things 

You are made of unforgettable.

Just me. 

Take another piece...

Angel,


I honestly did not think that it was possible... I thought that my heart had already been shattered into so many pieces that there was nothing left to break. I was wrong...


I truly wish the absolute best for you and I know just how much you deserve so much better than what even you expect for yourself.


Sitting across from you today - getting to see your face, hear your voice; to talk and laugh.. and in that brief time so many memories and feelings wanting to bubble up, I could have become overwhelmed. And walking back with you I could feel another piece crack..


You are the most amazing person that I have ever met. You possess beauty and strength. You are funny and wicked smart. You are kind and thoughtful. But what makes you so amazing to me is how you manage to be so many opposite things at once without seeming contradictory - though you can be very contradictory (see what I mean!)


If I could have scooped you up into my arms, held you so close, and never let you go... that is what I would have done... I won't let you out of my life though. I will never let go of your hand...


Your very biggest fan, always...


With love,


Just me.


Never Let Go of Your Hand

So you know...

To The Lady on the Train,


I have not written to you in a while. I do not want you to think that it is because I don't think about you every day - I do. You are on my mind more than you would ever suspect. I often wonder what you are doing at any particular point in time; I wonder if you are happy; I wonder what you are thinking... I wonder what is happening in your life and would like to know everything; all the good, all the bad... I wonder if I recall the shape of your face properly or if time is slowly altering the memory of you. I wonder if the voice I hear when I think about you is the voice that I used to hear in my ear, or if by some trick of distance and time I have misplaced your tone and cadence. Do I remember the constellations across your shoulders and back correctly or would the stars have moved and I would find myself lost in unfamiliar space? Would your curls still feel the same on the back of my hand should it rest on your shoulder? Do you walk with your head bowed as you head to the train after work or is your gaze fixed straight ahead with a bounce in your step? Do you still smile that secret smile and do your eyes sometimes flash dark?


I think of these things and much more.


So now you know...


The Man in the Station

I see you...

I see you...

To The Lady on the Train,

Knowing that I am on the outside, I press my nose to the glass around your heart. I know what lies beyond my reach and can see all the beauty within. Tender yet strong, precious and a wonder, you are magic.

The Man in the Station

Where it lives...

To The Lady on the Train,


You wondered how it is that you could be so lucky. I can tell you that it is not luck that makes me feel the way that I do about you... I will not give it a name, but I can tell you where to find it...

It rests in your beauty.


It is in your laugh.

It is in the changing shapes and colours of your eyes.

It is in the tumble of untamed curls.

It is in the soft skin on the back of your neck.

It is in every single familiar freckle across your shoulders.

It is in the way the small white hairs in the small of your back rise to a light touch.

It is in the length of your limbs.


It is in the impossible way you hold softness and strength within you.


It is in your every line and movement.

It is in your smile and in the air whenever you speak.

It fills the room whenever you walk in.


It is in the way that you affect everyone around you.

It is in the way sounds and light change when you are near.


It is wherever you are, preceding you and following you...

That is where it lives.




The Man in the Station

Not you...

She may love me and loathe me with all that she is. 

She may hold and bend, 
Angle and fight,
Release and wait.

She may stand on the shore helpless as I drown. 

She may by the force of her will be more than a shadow.

Even with all these contentments, there is no joy.

Even with all these undeserved gifts, she is not you. 

Of course...

In Search of Wonder...

To The Lady on the Train,

You should know that I look for you in crowds and in unlikely places even though I know that you are miles away or even in a different country. I step onto streetcars and escalators expecting to see your smiling face turned toward me or perhaps to catch a glimpse of you as you turn a corner.

I could be standing on a busy street, lost in thought and from the corner of my eye or in the distance a woman, brown curls pulled back tricks me into hoping that it might be you. I look for you in every woman I see - in the shape and colour of her eyes, in the angle of her chin, the slope of her nose, in the swing of her walk, or in the quiet way she holds herself when she thinks that no one notices her.

You should know that the times when I can find some part of you in a stranger, a part of me soars, until I realise that it isn't you. I look for you always and I can only find small pale fragments. You should know that there is only one as wondrous as you.

The Man in the Station

Sleep

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

In Between...

To The Lady on the Train,

In deep sleep my dreams run wild and I cannot shape my thoughts and in my waking hours I am pressed by gravity and cannot lift to hold you in my mind for long. No matter how hard I try to hold your image, you fade from me like water in cupped hands.

But there is a very small place between sleep and awake, between dreams and truth, where I can be completely happy. It is only here where I shed my awkwardness; where I can build worlds as they might be; where I am no longer bound to who I am. It is in this thin in-between where I can see your face and I can hear your voice. It is here where I can feel your gaze on me like standing in bight warm sunlight. It is here where your dark eyes shine and a wry smile holds a secret.

It is here where I see you. Here, you are known and loved.

 

The Man in the Station

In Dreams...

To The Lady on the Train,


I dream of you almost every night. I dream of you in days and times past; times when I knew the various shapes of your eyes, the patterns of freckles, and the sound of your voice and breath. I dream of times that have never happened but might have happened, or may yet come to be, or perhaps have happened in a different lifetime. And sometimes I dream of you though I can not see you as you are now. You may be invisible or take the form of a large bird or cat; but I always am able to recognise you. It is always in your eyes, in your strength and bearing, it is always in the way that air and light change wherever you are.


In my dreams we have crossed centuries and worlds.


The Man in the Station

...

Falling...

Beyond dreams...

To The Lady on the Train,



Even in sleeping dreams when the delusions of our egos can beguile us to grandeur and our abilities seem boundless, I have always known. Even while the night lets me fly or visit impossible lands or act mighty and brave, there is a corner of my wandering mind that stays grounded.


In sleep or awake there is a place measured by the back of your neck to your tail bone, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, that hold the endless possibilities of a thousand galaxies. In the hollowed nape of your neck and collar bone is a place where a man could lose himself.


In dreams or awake, I have always known that your changing eyes held mysteries I could never unravel.


So it is no surprise that in the dark morning of sleep crusted eyes, numbed arms and pounding head that I should know the empty ache of you not here.



The Man in the Station

Anniversaries...

To The Lady on the Train,

Today will be a mixed day. It would have been eight years ago today that we found something that would change us. I will never forget those feelings. We stepped onto a path that neither of us knew to where it would lead. Even now, if I had to do it all over again, I would embark on that journey with you.

Today is also a day for you to remember a profound loss. I did not have then nor do I have now, words that would help to carry you through. But you were and are strong - stronger than you believe.

You are absolutely amazing - in so many ways.

As always, my thoughts will be with you.

The Man in the Station

always.

To The Lady on the Train,

I never did go away. I have never left you. I guess that you didn't know it, but I was waiting for you. I will always wait.

From The Man in the Station

In a crowded place...

To The Lady on the Train,


I can sit in a crowded food court, in the middle of hard chairs, hard tables, hard voices. I can be surrounded by people and noise and chaos and lights that are too bright. I can sit there and not notice these things because your voice has drifted across to me. And somehow I find that I have fallen into your curls. Somehow, the line of your chin or the colour of your eyes has made everything else fall away. Somehow, the movement of your hand silences all sounds.


The Man in the Station

Hearts...

Angel,



Our hearts live by contradictions impossible to understand. It is when we tie our heart to another that we are most free. How is it, that in the binding, we are able to soar? We see the world in new colours; we listen to our better angels; our burdens are lessened. We become our better selves.



When those bonds begin to dissolve, it is not the binding that break but our heart. And when a heart breaks, we can no longer fly; we sink and look to bury ourselves. Colours drain, we cannot hear our angels, everything becomes a chore. We are no longer ourselves.



An unbound heart cannot soar because it is not meant to beat alone. The hardest thing is to remember that no heart is ever completely unbound; is never alone. The hardest thing sometimes is to find the tie that binds.



Just me.

Love Song: I and Thou

Love Song: I and Thou

By Alan Dugan          

Nothing is plumb, level, or square:

     the studs are bowed, the joists

are shaky by nature, no piece fits

     any other piece without a gap

or pinch, and bent nails

     dance all over the surfacing

like maggots. By Christ

     I am no carpenter. I built

the roof for myself, the walls

     for myself, the floors

for myself, and got

     hung up in it myself. I

danced with a purple thumb

     at this house-warming, drunk

with my prime whiskey: rage.

     Oh I spat rage’s nails

into the frame-up of my work:

     it held. It settled plumb,

level, solid, square and true

     for that great moment. Then

it screamed and went on through,

     skewing as wrong the other way.

God damned it. This is hell,

     but I planned it. I sawed it,

I nailed it, and I

     will live in it until it kills me.

I can nail my left palm

     to the left-hand crosspiece but

I can’t do everything myself.

     I need a hand to nail the right,

a help, a love, a you, a wife.

Through my eyes...