still dreaming

Woke up this morning, breathed in and out. Sat drinking my coffee, wondering how you were. I could see the edges of the curtains gradually illuminate as the sun rose. It was quiet, but the heater kicked-in every-so-often.

I backed up within my mind to your touch, your smile, your voice. But that just made me want more. So I tried blanking my mind out, and thinking of the entirety of nothing. I started thinking about patience and fear.

Fear is a really powerful emotion. It seems to bring out the bad stuff in humanity. Just what are we so afraid of? Like with me an patience. I'm afraid of never being with you again. I'm afraid you'll go far away and I'll never have that feeling of oneness, of being whole again. So fear seems to be about losing something.

Patience is about controlling that fear. Placing it aside somehow. Calming the mind down from racing and racing and worrying. I see your hand. I looked at your hands. Such beautiful hands. I see your eyes and the pools of love inside them. Deep pools of pain too. And I wondered about your fear, and your anxiety. I tried to have compassion. Then I wondered what is compassion, and how is it related to patience and fear.

I lay back, and sip some more coffee, and wonder what I can do to fill my day up so I'm not continually obsessing about you. I have to distract my mind. Because I don't want to forget. If I forget I will go down another bad road. I have to find a way to remember what we have, but be distracted just enough to hold on to it and be patient and quell the fear. What an equation! What a balance!

I feel the spinning plates on my nose and arms and foot, and I'm hopping about with all the spinning plates. Such precious plates. I don't want any to crash to the ground, spraying in all directions. Leaving the illusion of dexterity and ease in the dust bin. My fear wears me out. Patience is even harder.

My head hits the nice soft pillow and I breathe in the lavender essence, close my eyes, and dream of you again. You, in the soft supple youth, driving the Boston Whaler across the shallow, in the night. The smell of pure ocean air. Your hair, your feet, your legs.

I never fit there then, I was so insecure. It was too good for me, I didn't deserve it. At least that's what I felt. But now. I've changed. I know I deserve it. You, and everything you bring. Your anger, your wit, your humor, your angst.

You hang around my life like a heavy and beautiful medallion. You're a pendulum that swings with the inertia of my life. I might swing with yours too. I just don't know. At least I can still dream. At least I can still breathe.