One of the children recently asked me why and how the sun rises each day, and I looked at them as if I knew how to explain the science behind it. Instead, I was thinking of a way to steer them into researching it themselves, so they wouldn’t realize my ignorance in not being able to tell them myself.
I don’t know the mechanics behind all that makes you rise and fall, but my inability to articulate the science behind the sun’s travels doesn’t prevent me from desiring to see it rise again and again. Nor does it deter me from waiting each day to stand in its warmth, to be reminded that I am alive and that everything around me is continuing to grow in honor of its nurturing.
I don’t understand much about why we are so close yet so far. I miss chatting with you. I miss not getting to know you. I want to call, to write or text, but I don’t, because I’ve heard too many voices, read too many contradictory words and have confused myself about what everything means. Saying too much and saying too little seems to be equal to saying nothing at all. Somedays I think everything has been said long ago, and that these words serve as nothing more than a roll of paper towels soaked in burden, and dripping with the task of mopping up the spilled ink of our love.
Other days I escape to the forest and tend to the trees purposed for harvesting more paper towels. I’m the creator of the bed Goldilocks never found, the one behind a hidden door, surrounded by flames and guarded by the very bears who considered her an intruder. That bed remains in the forest just for us, and it has one purpose.
When I’m silent, everything is clear and I let down my guard to listen only to you. I don’t ask directly, but wonder if you realize that you can’t protect a heart already unlocked to you, that I am there, you are here, and distance is the mirage. How do I know?
Not once, not twice but very often we arrive to the rendezvous at the exact same moment, and more often than this, we miss one another by seconds. What once was uncanny is now to me a favored and loving mystery.
My mind replays various scenes that touched me most. Your unexpected shyness, gaze, smile, poise, and its falter that only I could see. Your crossed-arm anxiety, the tempo of your voice, your passion for getting a thing done, your stories, your kiss, your hands, your hug, your eyes as I guided you into me, your romance, your seductions, and hidden passions. The dark and light you tried yet couldn’t hide, the searching for something more than what your eyes could see – Your walking poetry.
There is nothing I would change about all that has passed. I hope you feel the same, but if you don’t, please consider that at some point, we’ve maybe seen one another as a sun unworthy to stand beneath in our darkness. Maybe we were unprepared for the heat and each suffered sunburns, to compound with our individual unknown or unaddressed injuries.
Yet in its brief havoc, sunburn creates new skin.
If our actions serve to reveal the radiance beneath our burns, then our fires are a blessing turning to ash our inner curses. I want to burn with you, because I know the light behind your darkness, and your darkness doesn’t scare me. And if it scares you, know that every place we encounter one another will transform into a burning bed.
How beautiful our scars. How incidental our scares.
All of my arrivals, both physical and ethereal, have never been visits, nor have my departures ever been a return to somewhere else. I’ve never left the space of loving you to forsake my commitment to the spirit of your heartbeat, regardless of its reason for beating.
The commitment is a promise, where my purpose is to use energy in support of your heart’s strength, never so much that it becomes oversized, nor ever so little that it shrivels and dies.
My love is just right.
May we never lose our way,
Goldilocks 2.0 aka Buttercup