The Sound of Your Name

To The Lady on the Train, 

I want to have your name in my mouth; to let it fall from my lips casual, unburdened by weight.

I want the choreography of tongue and lips and throat to sound your name; to let it dance in the space between us. 

From the breath in my lungs, I want your name to echo in canyons. 

I am an un-rung bell wanting to reverberate your name; to let it take flight. 

The Man in the Station

A Fevered Dream

Angel,

It started as a restless dream that woke me and left me in a sweat, unable to shake all the emotions. 

It started without a word between us but the shared understanding that we had decided to try a new start; that there was more to be explored between us. And in the next moment the overwhelming feeling that came over me was fear of disappointing you. A rush of inadequacy and fear of judgement, judging my own inadequacies, and then the realization that you too might be having some of those same fears. 

My body is not the same body that I once had. A lack of physical intimacy these past years may have left me unable to please you. Has too much time passed, has too much changed? And though I had those doubts about myself, I did not care about any of your changes. I do not care that your hair is grey (in fact, I love it). I do not care if you have gained or lost weight. I do not care if you are as strong or stronger. I do not care if your eyes are as sharp. There is absolutely nothing that time could change that would make me want to be with you any less.

Even as all of the doubts about myself and reasons why not rushed through, I knew that it would not matter. I was standing at the edge of the high dive and the decision to jump had already been made. And in the moment that I ran my fingers across your shoulders, pressed my lips against the back of your neck, felt your curls against my cheeks, and heard your breath as I trailed your spine I knew that whatever doubts I had vanished. 

To feel your soft skin and to watch and feel you respond; to fall into the changing yet familiar rhythms of exploration and wonder, to let the moment and what felt right be our guide was all the reason I needed to let go of all fears. Feeling of you turn toward me, your eyes locked onto mine, the feel of your hard nipples in my palm, and the length of you against me - and the fearlessness of your vulnerability that dispelled any fears. We would explore each other with open abandon and bravery and find again what was dormant. I made love to you. I heard your sighs. I felt you tense toward me and the shaking release of you letting go. I felt you pull me toward you and I saw in your eyes the wonderment and magic that I felt.

I had jumped from a great height expecting to plunged into the deep end but I ended up flying.

And that is what woke me and kept me turning restless. Even now recalling all those emotions I can feel the rollercoaster.

Just me.

Chasing your ghost

To The Lady on the Train,

You don't know this, and perhaps you shouldn't. But whenever I run, I carry you with me. Once the aches and pains of pounding feet into pavement has been masked by the euphoric release of endorphins, dopamine, and adrenalin you come drifting into focus. Once the punishment turns to pleasure, you are there. 

And as the kilometers roll by under my feet, I try to recall the slope of your shoulders and the patterns of freckles that I once could draw with my fingertips. I recall the softness of your skin and the hardness of the muscle and bone below the surface and I drift into that same wonderment of the impossible contradictions that you are.

I try to remember the arch of your back, roundness of your backside, and the straight lines of your limbs, the line of your jaw, and your small bowtie mouth. I run through the mists of memory and time to relive the feel of your curls on my cheek, the sound of your sigh in my ear, and see the bright darkness of your eyes. Running, I can recall the scent of your perfume and your skin. And I am no longer running but back in a room with the sun slanting in across white sheets and I am consumed by the way you fill me up.

And there are not enough kilometers, not enough roads or trails, not any distance possible that would be enough to set you down. I carry you with me in this running dream knowing that once I stop it will slide from my grasp like trying to hold sand. But there is always the next run and a further distance. It is the best reason to keep running; it is the reward for the chase.

The Man in the Station