I don’t think I am writing these days as much as I am sleep-writing. Lol. I will let you exercise your brains and figure out what that means. You are welcome.
“Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, neither has it entered the heart of man, the things that God has prepared for they that love him.”
1 Corinthians 2:9
We are like children again. Discovery. Magic. Kaleidoscopes.
I wake up first, before the first light of dawn, so I can watch him while he is at one with his shadow. When I tire of watching or when it is too bright to go on pretending that he is perfect, I start it off by kissing him from the middle, his navel, that place where he first connected to another human being. By the time I am all the way up to his mouth, he is wide awake and taking his turn with watching.
Mornings are our best times; before the hurriedness and demands of life find us and we are forced to take our leave of each other.
“Call me first chance you get,” He says as he kisses me one more time before I get on the train. He has driven me the 7 blocks I could have walked from the little house that is our home to the station.
“On the subway? You know there is no service on these things.” I tease.
“No silly, I mean when you get to work and have settled in and replied all those emails I won’t let you reply at home and had all those boring meetings…”
“Really? You want me to wait that long before calling you. Can you survive until then?” “OK scratch that! Just call me the minute you begin miss me.”
“Oh okay then” I say and begin to fish in my handbag for my cell phone. He laughs and it is like hot shower on a cold winter day.
I get on the train and start to wave like it will take a thousand forevers till I see him again. I wave until he is out of sight, ignoring my fellow commuters that must think me senile
I won’t lie and tell you that this love is perfect like the one in the Cinderella dreams of my childhood or the Twilight ones of my teenage years. Maturity means I have whittled those dreams down enough to give them a chance at reality.
Gone are the fairytale wishes of my childhood. Out the door are the hopes of a Prince Charming. Down the drain are dreams of a man with a cape and a home in the stars. Torn down are the castles I built in my imagination to house a prince.
Here I am, in my 4 year old faded black winter coat jostled on a crowded train. Here I am, heading to a job that pays barely enough to help with the mortgage of our 3 bedroom house in the Queens. Here I am, sleepless and no beauty. Here I am, human, having lost my fairy wings in battles with demons that disguised themselves as lovers.
There he is, no cape but a hoodie I know has torn pockets that I should mend. There he is, no sword in hand to fight wicked old witches and their curses, no treasure chest with which to buy me the world. There he is driving home, in our 8 year old truck that takes at least three tries to start on cold mornings, our very own Pegasus.
Before love finds you, while you are still beset with the erroneous idea that it is you who finds it, it fits perfectly into the fairy tale of your dreams, the one you hope will become real someday. There is space for it in your night sessions with the supernatural. But when the real thing finds you, you begin to realize just how wrong you were about it.
Before love finds you, while you are still beset with the erroneous idea that it is you who finds it, it fits perfectly into the fairy tale of your dreams. There is space for it in your night sessions with the supernatural. Then when it finds you, you begin to realize how it is nothing liked you could have ever dreamed. If you could dream it, then why is it love? No, love will not be chained by something as fleeting as mere dreams or the fairy tales that has delighted and obtused many minds in time past. It transcends all you have ever known. It cannot be put into words. If it was anything you have known, then you would never have let it go. Like I will never let this go.
I no longer dream. There is no need. I live. I love. I no longer believe in fairy tales. I am writing my own tale. It is a very human tale.
I call him the moment I step off the train. It has been too long already.
Song of the day: Mariah Carey – Can’t Live