At a resort

To The Lady on the Train,

I am in a beautiful hot country. The resort sits on a palm tree dotted beach of a sheltered azure bay that faces out toward the vast blue of the south Atlantic Ocean. The people who look after us are as warm as the days. There is good food, music and dancing and singing; games to play and laughter to share. Well tended gardens and pathways throughout, beautiful swimming pools, and a gentle warm breeze. There is hardly anything more that one could want. Hardly, and yet. 

And yet there is something missing. It is the same thing that is always missing. It is that which has left me with this hole that I carry. It is a hole that is the exact shape of your eyes and resonates at the frequency of your voice. 

It will be a week in the sun and sand, away from the snow and cold that awaits our return North. It will be just one more week with you not where I am. 

The Man in the Station 

Happy Anniversary

 To The Lady on the Train,

“If you could, would you want to go back” you once asked me. 

“In a heartbeat. Would you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

And these things are true. But we cannot go back. 

It was 16 years ago today when first we made love on a blanket spread out on a carpeted floor. We were explorers, not knowing what we would find or how incredibly precious our discovery could be. And we did find something that we did not expect, and in truth, could never have imagined. And even knowing what we found, we somehow could not hold it indefinitely. 

Maybe a part of us didn’t believe it could be true. My suspicion is that a part of us didn’t believe that we were worthy.  We are both broken in some way that makes us doubt this the magic could be for us. But it is for us and it is ours, and it isn’t something that either of us will ever be able to lose completely.  We are that magic, whatever that magic is. 

This, our anniversary, is a day that is shared with an event that is as solid and immovable as granite, and should not be shared; it cannot be shared. I now consider a different day as our anniversary because in many ways it was a day just as important. When we were faced with a hard decision, we chose us. March 3 we spent in a small house that we borrowed for the day. I know that you have replayed the events of that day many times over, as have I.  We stood at the crossroads where every direction held some heartache, but we continued into the unknown even though the safer path would have been to turn back. We were brave that day.  

We have been disbelieving and we have been brave many times through the years and we are still here; we are still in each other’s orbit. I do not know where we will go. I do not know the paths we will take together or apart. I wish that I could see into the future. But I cannot do that any more than I can turn back the clock. And I cannot see the direction you are taking or to what distance it is that you are looking towards. 

I can tell you that I want to find again that sweet sadness that can only come from the knowledge gained by being next to the one that holds your heart; the knowledge that we are all truly alone.  Before there is only darkness, I want to lay beside you to look into the universe in your eyes and feel your warm cheeks with the backs of my fingers. I want to feel the soft brush of your lips against mine and to taste your honey mouth, slow and tender, almost afraid. I want to feel your arms around me and hear your breath and voice in my ear. I want to feel the thump of your heart beating against my own chest. I want to know throughout my entire being if it has all been lost for good; or that by some magic that it has only laid dormant, or perhaps been held down either deliberately or subconsciously.  I want to know if there is some deep buried ember that still glows. I want to be scared and to face that decision again; to raise that ember and fan it to flame, or to let it lie an ember that shall never ablaze. Or even, that there is no ember left.

We have already walked the paths that lay behind us. Whatever the paths before us, we will walk them. 

Come what may. 

The Man in the Station

In a Restaurant

 

In a small restaurant on a cold and windy January, I find myself sitting across from a beautiful woman who does not know all that she holds. There are perhaps 8 small tables that will seat 20 people at most but we are the only people here aside from the chef; the place is all ours and it is perfect. 

The sky darkens outside the north facing window and all of the remaining light has settled on her. The outside has disappeared, leaving only this small room. Then shrinking, the rest of the room falls away, leaving only this one small table and all the remaining light shines from her face. There are no other sounds but for her laughing voice.

A universe in the shape of a woman collapses space and with it time. For me a moment passes, yet beyond the gravity of this table hours have flown by. Having already fallen into her eyes I ached to take her hand, but never would I have the strength to ever let go; the pull of her being too great. 

When finally we leave to walk back to the car, the universe extends no futher that our imidiate circle along our path. Or perhaps it is the sidewalk that moves beneath my feet for I cannot feel the earth. It is not until she departs that the rest of the world is released for me to sense. Cars, people, streets, and streetcars come back to my awareness, and I am left empty.

She is not aware of all that she holds; she has no idea...