There were many things I liked about being with you. There were also some things I did not like about being with you, but most of those things had to do with the stark fear of losing you. Now that that's occurred and passed, I've had time to think about all of those things. It's the things I like that come to mind most often.
One thing I liked very much was holding your hand.
Sometimes we'd do it when walking your dogs through your neighborhood, usually at night. Most times it just kind of happened. Not automatically, but unconsciously. Never unnoticed though.
The feeling I'd get inside was one of quiet well-being. A momentary sense that all was right. A settling down. Sometimes it was mixed with the sadness of knowing you'd be going soon.
Once, you called me after one of those long disappearances and asked me to meet you in a park to talk. To get to the park we had to cross a busy, poorly lit street. We stood on the sidewalk waiting for our chance and then sprinted the short distance across. When we stepped off the curb to run, our hands found each other. A mutual, simultaneous, unconscious act of trust. Love, I want to call it.
That night you told me that being with me made you happy. Those were my favorite words.
And then there were those times we ventured out into cold early winter mornings for fasted cardio. What was it 3:30 or 4:00 AM? The bright stars and the moon and that sacred silence - just for us. So rich. The feeling of your mittened hand in mine made me glow inside.
The memory of it still does.
One thing I liked very much was holding your hand.
Sometimes we'd do it when walking your dogs through your neighborhood, usually at night. Most times it just kind of happened. Not automatically, but unconsciously. Never unnoticed though.
The feeling I'd get inside was one of quiet well-being. A momentary sense that all was right. A settling down. Sometimes it was mixed with the sadness of knowing you'd be going soon.
Once, you called me after one of those long disappearances and asked me to meet you in a park to talk. To get to the park we had to cross a busy, poorly lit street. We stood on the sidewalk waiting for our chance and then sprinted the short distance across. When we stepped off the curb to run, our hands found each other. A mutual, simultaneous, unconscious act of trust. Love, I want to call it.
That night you told me that being with me made you happy. Those were my favorite words.
And then there were those times we ventured out into cold early winter mornings for fasted cardio. What was it 3:30 or 4:00 AM? The bright stars and the moon and that sacred silence - just for us. So rich. The feeling of your mittened hand in mine made me glow inside.
The memory of it still does.
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