Believe

He felt her when she was away, a depression, an absence...the wake of air when somebody walks by you with a familiar perfume...

The first flush in your face when you exit into the cold...maybe somebody opens the door up and you feel the freezing breeze first...you anticipate and you expect...you tighten the upper coat.

Distance is a hard, long and rusty razor...it doesn't leave polite cuts...nothing straight and even.  Rather it cleaves...it corrupts...

But you still rise in the morning and see if you can still find the moon rise.  You scrub soap over skin and let the steam of the shower heat start your day.

The sun hints just over the blackened trees of the shadowy parts and you know she is out there...somewhere.  You believe it.  You can almost remember exactly what she felt like.

And in the slowness of the holidays it becomes more crushing, more compounded...the miss of her clutch becomes an ache. 

And it feels like you are barefoot in the snow...maybe just in socks...shivering and you can see maybe a house with a chimney breathing white smoke into the cold air...and it is a reminder that somewhere else somebody is warm...

You know she is warm somewhere. 

You believe she is.  You hope she is.

Her eyes the dark dirt colors of freshly furrowed fields....that seem cool in the distance until you are up close and they lighten into almost caramels that remind you of toffee...a candy mouth and what did John Mayer call it, a bubble-gum tongue?

Evidence, visual...the slight weight of her when aligned...the pull of her. 

Like Jupiter's moons...every night they orbit, caught in gravity...they are visible...present.

She is like the bright undiscovered moon to his planet...rotating...sometimes it is the dark side...other times she is reflected in the light.

She is a gift-wrapped mystery, a favorite color, undressing her was the wildest of presents being slowly disassembled, and the great reveal beyond the ability to describe. 

Like walking into a fireplace warmed room from the cold.

She was warmth, whether near or far.  But still...at times...he felt a bit of the frost forming, just a little, mostly at night when there was no moon...until she opened some door in his mind and briefly sidled out and it warmed him from within.

She burnt like a pilot light in him mind...that low blue color of flame always on...until they met again briefly and she turned it up and it lit fires and flames inside.  Burning through forests of trees in his memory, darkened forests the colors of winter night, and her perfect landscape the color of snow under the moon. 

He didn't always get to see her...but he always believed he would again. 

He loved to believe that.

And hoped she shared in that belief as well.