make a wish

Cary Brothers ‘The Glass Parade’

I wonder, as I wake frightened, what I should wish for as I rub a eyelash from the wet spot streaking down my face. Better yet, what do you wish for?

If the whole world were to tally up their wishes, what category would we all favour? World peace? Happiness? Wealth and security? A warm place to sleep? Or better yet, love?

I woke having dreamt you were gone. Not only from my bed for the night–which chrissake was only reinforced for you were in fact in your own familiar surroundings in what still is your home–but also for good. There was a vague permanence and few details which my subconcious, dreaming mind yearned for in the scenario yet rejected fervently. You were simply gone. There is a high-wire skill not to love, but to acting it out. It is to combat what a commander would call total commitment. Pure insanity, really. It is getting safely to the other side and into someone’s arms without crossing over too quickly and falling to certain…well in this case heartbreak and disappointment, and hopefullly not certain death (though emotional exaggeration could prove otherwise).

I find myself waiting, but assured though I cannot look to him physically for affirmation, that had I crossed with haste, he would have been the net below to break my fall.

…….perhaps in a circus we are looking for the wrong thing to entertain us? It is the fall itself which is the most thrilling, brilliant, beautiful act.

set me free

Does anyone believe in a healing power? I remember one sunny day on the way to work, I got the call. I had kicked it. All the treatments and tests and therapies were over. He was my first call. In a way, it made the most sense, as he was my first of so many things. My first love, I suppose since he was the first to really love me back. I wondered later that night if it was that love that brought me back to life. How long–2 years??–I had wasted away, and now, lifted from me I could breathe and rejoice, and have someone to celebrate life with.

I am not a lost cause. I still manage to find the rainy-day side to things. It is often all there is no matter how long you dig for that sparkle of good. I am not a gushing pile of love. I have just found my way back, and found one less thing to be angry about.

home at last

He is beautiful. Not in the feminine, physical attributes kind of way as most people associate beauty to. In a graceful, peaceful manner. He is sleeping in my tiny bed, taking up all the space so much that I wonder how we both fit there, soundly throughout the night. We fit anywhere, the two of us. I watch his expressionless face and I want to cry.

He moves through the apartment, dressed for work as I recline on the sofa. I stare off but catch his adoring gaze from the perimeter. The way he drinks his coffee, frowns when thinking, huffs when impatient, again he is perfect.

So long I waited by the phone for other people’s calls, accepting failure and wallowing in the shallow nature of their needs. I was not displayed proudly on anyone’s arm–I was the toy grown tired of, that stays inside waiting to be shown attention. So long I was a fool.

I have waited for a feeling extraordinary, for a hand to grasp mine, and an embrace to envelope me, and I am no longer let down.

Coat in hand, my redemption kisses me goodbye, and walks out the door. I only have to wait so long. He’ll be back.