The other night I held you, as you had held me in the rain. Though you were 3000 miles away in form and probably light years further in spirit, I could picture every single line and curve. But suddenly, today, this new image came to me and invaded my thoughts like the tiny ants that roam each and every hall here.
You- on a road trip.
I can't picture the car or the road; just you and the landscape in back of you, moving quickly and slowly at the same time- how it always seems to be on road trips.
You smile in this image; the kind of smile that comes with a giggle, even though you claim you rarely laugh; and a lifting of your eyes in a way that makes me get butterflies.
In this image, I am across the car, but I am still not sure who's driving. There's a freedom that makes me think I am, and an ominous beauty that makes me think you are.
It's not like one of those dreams in which I become you and you become me and the lines between me and not me; her and not her; you and not you become so blurred she/you/me can feel everything at every moment. There is a clear distance in this image, but I feel safe, so I still can't be sure of the mood. It's one of those moments that is so specific yet so vague, I can't seem to grasp it.
So, I sit at my desk; ants occupying the attention of the kitties; coffee smelling very southern Louisiana; mind speaking very South Philadelphia; heart hoping that the background isn't the sky off the side of a cliff, quickly and slowly whizzing by as you smile that heart-lifting smile, and talk in that voice that makes me so comfortable and so sure but so scared because it's so distance and so present all at once.
You- on a road trip.
I can't picture the car or the road; just you and the landscape in back of you, moving quickly and slowly at the same time- how it always seems to be on road trips.
You smile in this image; the kind of smile that comes with a giggle, even though you claim you rarely laugh; and a lifting of your eyes in a way that makes me get butterflies.
In this image, I am across the car, but I am still not sure who's driving. There's a freedom that makes me think I am, and an ominous beauty that makes me think you are.
It's not like one of those dreams in which I become you and you become me and the lines between me and not me; her and not her; you and not you become so blurred she/you/me can feel everything at every moment. There is a clear distance in this image, but I feel safe, so I still can't be sure of the mood. It's one of those moments that is so specific yet so vague, I can't seem to grasp it.
So, I sit at my desk; ants occupying the attention of the kitties; coffee smelling very southern Louisiana; mind speaking very South Philadelphia; heart hoping that the background isn't the sky off the side of a cliff, quickly and slowly whizzing by as you smile that heart-lifting smile, and talk in that voice that makes me so comfortable and so sure but so scared because it's so distance and so present all at once.
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