But at times he felt she had sadness, balloons within her that he could sometimes prick with a comment, and it would slowly empty and she would be rid of it. For a moment.
Like now, on the porch as an evening devolved into a muddy mixture of storm clouds and darkness. Ugly colors in a humid evening.
I just wanted you to know that it is in these...these little brief moments that I feel like I am inside of you...inside of your mind and I'm simply merely trying to calm it.
He announced it as she sat behind him...he on the porch stairs with a drink in his hand. His comment had been with his bourbon outstretched in front of him, gesturing that the horizon was collapsed into a tiny pocket of this small house in the southern county.
Her voice, usually in reactions to his comments, was quiet.
I know. I know I'm not able to share whatever you call it...you and your writer words.
He turned to her, a shape in the evening...legs together and tapering up to her hair and her face. It was the worst lighting...in a bright space her eyes were such toffee colors against an angled face. It was something a bit mesmerizing while expressive. Here, in the shadows of a night about to commence he couldn't read her.
I don't need you to share.
I think you do. I think you need to hear it.
He nodded slightly, knowing she couldn't see it. But he knew that she could strip him like a sapling, carving him in layers and keeping bits of him to collect and preserve. He couldn't do that to her...she was like an iron that required him to warm her...to warm her from the inside and perhaps maybe warm her to the point where she exposed herself a little bit.
I don't necessarily need to hear it. I guess I just need to feel it. And unfortunately I probably need to see it to feel it. And that requires being here. He said this as he mounted the steps and walked briefly in front of her. She had a slight habit of murmuring when she wanted to say something but kept it closed inside of her. So he started again:
But here's the thing. I am slowly realizing that I don't need to be here either. So long as I know you're here...so long as I know you're somewhere...some place. Just knowing that you're in an evening and so am I...I'm learning that even that small common piece is enough for me.
Meaning what? she said.
Meaning...I don't know...it's like a presence. A prayer. It's the sense that you are there...that you and I are maybe thinking the same thing despite distance. I don't know. It's a bit crazy. But I sense you. I sense your presence. I feel the weight of you. Like your walk, your driving in a car to work...I feel it. I know you're there.
Why the prayer comment?
Because you pray for something you want. Sometimes you pray for something you need...I don't know. Perhaps I need you. I definitely want you. It, at times, is hard to tell which.
Quiet in an evening, the sawing noise of crickets and the insects of a marsh country signaling the start of their music in the dark.
I just want you to know that I find that sometimes you are sad. And I just want to erase it. Maybe not perfectly like it's gone forever. But for the moment I want you to not be thinking about that...and maybe realize that I find the perfect architecture in you...that all is so perfectly fine so long as you are somewhere in the day. And maybe in those long hours I might get a chance to be with you and just share the rest of it with you for a tiny brief moment.
How brief a moment?
As brief as a kiss.
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