I imagine light. Rings of light. Around my body. They move up and down- from my toes to my head and back again. Small hoops of light. I don’t think I ever told you about the light or how it feels differently when I remember to imagine it. I tell it to your eyes instead. We have conversations, your eyes and I.
Do you miss me, I ask. Your eyebrows closing, lips shut tight- pursed No, but your eyes nod yes.
Remember when we did the cough? I send my words for a tickle: Wah-ha-eh-ah. A moment freezes as you try to hold it in…but you burst out laughing. I smile and exhale- it works every time.
Are you avoiding me?
No, your eyelids are heavy and your eyes flat. Just really tired. I knew you’d think that. I don’t care what you think- I can’t worry about that.
I didn’t, I say. I was just asking.
Whatever. It has been a long week.
Was seeing me at all a factor?
I don’t know, Maybe. But mostly I’m just tired.
Ok, fine. You coming next week?
Not sure. Complicated.
I want to say- it’s because it’s the weekend, isn’t it? And you do that thing you do… but I don’t because I know you know what I think anyway and I don’t want to start a fight. Let’s just go to sleep.
Good morning, I say to your eyes as I open mine. Feeling any better?
Yes. But busy.
You want to be left alone, I know. I can’t help it though- I’m not doing anything. It just happens. I can tell you are going inside again….hasn’t anything changed in all this time that has passed between us? You’d think so, you say. And your eyes remind me that time is a factor not an equation. You look miserable now. I’d put my palm against your cheek- and let you rest in it, tilted, scruffing back and forth, ear cupped until the warmth of your face and cold of my hand blend to a perfect hot cocoa- the kind children drink in a sippy cup next to a bowl of macaroni and cheese. But it’s too early to think about that. I don’t know what to do, you say, is it ever going to end? You’re so sad in my palm. Go do your thing, I tell you. You’ll feel better afterwards. See you later, you say as you walk into my horizon. Inside you hope that you don’t- at least not like this. When you don’t see, I put my hand on your heart- like you once did. I hear its beat coming closer, it lays its rhythm against your chest yearning for a way out. What is it going to be, little one? A few moments of freedom, a pure ocean green, and then it's time to go back inside. I'll see you soon, I call as you fade into a blessed white silence. A light. Rings of light. Small Hoops. Up and down....
Recent Comments