You left over 900 pennies in a bag by the door when you left. That was a year ago. I housed them in a drawer with other stuffed away memories in the shape of a deck of cards and mismatched earrings and old sets of keys. But today I thought, I should clean out that drawer and cash in those coins. Maybe I would feel a little lighter if I did. Maybe I would have one less reminder. Clear up some space. But, of course, it didn’t work that way.
I get 9 bucks cash from the Coinstar and go buy a coffee. After I slid in my straw, I realize in a way you bought me this coffee. And suddenly I was savoring each tiny pool of liquid that met my mouth. It became the best-damn-coffee-I’ll-ever-have-in-this-lifetime and I can’t stop thinking about you you you. Can’t stop AT ALL. So I had to sit down and fucking write about it.
I guess what I’m saying is-I tried to get rid of you (figuratively through the pennies of course) but you came back to me anyway. I think I’ve finally learned my lesson now. I can’t get rid of you. Because even if we’re not together your soul is still nurturing mine. It still cares. It still always shows up right on time; 900 little time travelers who buy me coffee and remind me to bring my pen and paper together again.
Ask all the big questions
Ask them to yourself
Look up and ask the universe
why we’re starting to look like our souls
Look down at the spaceships we call feet
and think about the first time
you let them take you someplace new
because it was time to move forward
and then ended up on a porch where you found
the words you always hoped to find
for the things you knew were there
but couldn’t see
until you turned on all the lights
in the bedroom of your mind
to find your way here
One balmy Sunday morning sometime in September, I opened my eyes to him. It was then I came to understand the wordless conversation. We talked so many, many times before-but none of that seemed to compute anymore-it was just filler anyway. Our conversations really live in the soft rustle of the sheets while our limbs slide against one another. This is where they were always meant to be.
” ” he said.
” ” I said back.
I stretch out on the flannel plaid sheets and I laugh. A small release of sound, more like a hiccup than anything else. Everything is clear in the absence of words. We focus on the yawn of the box spring instead. I listen for the crescendo of his breaths. He turned to me and pulled me in so my nose lightly grazed his neck. I now know this is our morning greeting. The shells for our bodies press together and we know this translates to, “I’m awake.”
His fingers trace the freckles on the edge of my cheeks while I capture his other hand in one of mine. We are bound together by the conversation of our bodies-these are the words we couldn’t risk to say aloud.
This doesn’t last all morning though. Eventually we share a sad look that means, “we have other responsibilities today.” So, we fall from the cloud and onto the stale carpet. I laugh as I watch him struggle to find his glasses so he can find his shirt.
And then the illusion is broken. We leave each other and walk off into a day of meaningless words; we stumble off to answer questions like, “Did you read that e-mail?” and “How is your love life?”
” ,” I say.