Thoughts on a humid Sunday midnight
Images of you race across my mind, and then quickly run off to hide, like a shy girl from unknown guests. ‘It’s been long enough’, they say, but what do they know? How can they know when knowing was only ours?
A narrow tarmac road, twisting slightly to the left as it slopes, only to straighten out and show the way home; home for a while, home forever; Home. Silence, friendly silence. All sounds combining at once to match the music in my head, or is it in my heart?
A mouth with a wide smile, lips that tell of dreams long forgotten and yet coming alive once again, a heart with such kindness, hands that accept, embrace and give. Warmth from every pore. Hands that hold. Hands that work. Hands that lead, gentle hands. A gentle soul.
Night lights, of every color; yellow, orange, blue, green; speed by like a man on a mission, a man blown away by strong winds that squeeze through small spaces looking for the quickest smoothest way out. Eyes that stare at the lights, eyes full of excitement, awe, trust. Still, hands that hold.
Paths that cross, cross borders, cross decades, cross time zones, cross infinity, cross the line of possibilities. ‘It’s dangerous to change the way things work, there’s a way for everything, a reason’, they say, but what do they know? How can they know when knowing was only ours?
A sting that won’t be soothed, that fights against the healing effects of time, with the strength of a soldier fighting for his life, a soldier that will not wave the white flag even to his last breath. that sweet sting; that tells a story of evenings by the lake and mornings on the couch. That sting that stays.
Images of you race across my mind, like a nocturnal being, suddenly exposed by light, dashing from one side of a room to another, looking for the nearest crevice to crawl into. ‘It’s been long enough’. It’s been too long.