Evening Love Song
It's 12:30 am. I went to bed at 11 and woke up an hour later. I was reading in bed for a little while, but the book is a tough one. It's called "What is The What?" and is about Sudan, though it has little to do with Darfur. Anyhow-
The Chef contacted me around 9:30. A text message inviting me out to brunch. So at 11:30 I'm meeting her at Cafe Patachou downtown, her favorite breakfast place. They have a smaller joint here in Broad Ripple known as "Petite Chou," and that place serves breakfast that tastes like dynamite and stardust, so I'm certain brunch downtown will be a raging success. After that we're coming back here so I can "show her stuff" and so we can just hang out for a bit. At least that's what was discussed, but things may change after brunch.
So I woke up after an hour of sleep. I was afraid to look at the clock. My only hope was that it was later than I knew it to be by the way I was feeling. I hardly had a chance to even dream. I'm crawling out of my skin over seeing her again. When my plans were dashed last weekend I took it on the chin. It was honest and unfortunate, and I girded my robes about my loins and waited for the wind to blow through another seven days.
I was patient. I thought about seeing her again as much as I could dare, knowing how tenuous these things can be. I knew it was entirely possible that things were over and done with already; those kinds of things happen all the time. But now that I'm here - or almost here, anyways - my blood is running cold with anticipation. We will be together again. There are only hours left and I've picked up where I left off, dizzy feeling and floating, wondering exactly what it will be like, exactly what shape tomorrows time will ultimately take.
Will I go to bed tomorrow night with the memory of her lips against mine? Will I be able to feel her curves and lines in my hands? Will I feel a ghost pattern or her body, smell her smell somewhere? The mind wanders, the mind wonders. Excitement. Excitement for something so simple. It's as if I've come full circle, that I'm back where I was many years ago, asking my friend what it was actually like to kiss a girl. It's unsullied. My thoughts are clean and sweet.
I suppose I have come full circle in many ways, but some parts of me seem to only move forward from go. Parts of my life can only go forward, meaning that while my thoughts of seeing her, talking with her, eating with her, kissing her perhaps, are clean and unsullied, parts of my insides are jumbles of nerves set down from experience - the things that went awry, the things that were only to not be in the time it takes a thunderclap to peal, the near misses, the might-have-beens, the haven'ts. Being sick and being all alone - being happy and being all alone, wondering when my time in exile would end.
That's all a little too much to stomach. It's not really all that bad. In fact, I'm very happy just to realistically entertain possibilities. The simple-hearted part of me is clearly in the ascendant. Joy is the major mood at all of this. I'm not front loading everything. I'm not going too far from the shore here, but it would be against my nature not to think at least partly in very big pictures. Even the biggest pictures have to begin with one small stroke.
I am restless. The time and place have been set. For now I will have to try to drift with the current, to run with the wind at my back, to breathe only as fast as the air will come. Tomorrow brings with it the promise of something new. Something will happen, and in many ways I'm excited to be on the edge of something, good or bad. In many ways I'm happy to even be here, my stomach in a small knot, sleep abandoning me. It is all good.
The Chef contacted me around 9:30. A text message inviting me out to brunch. So at 11:30 I'm meeting her at Cafe Patachou downtown, her favorite breakfast place. They have a smaller joint here in Broad Ripple known as "Petite Chou," and that place serves breakfast that tastes like dynamite and stardust, so I'm certain brunch downtown will be a raging success. After that we're coming back here so I can "show her stuff" and so we can just hang out for a bit. At least that's what was discussed, but things may change after brunch.
So I woke up after an hour of sleep. I was afraid to look at the clock. My only hope was that it was later than I knew it to be by the way I was feeling. I hardly had a chance to even dream. I'm crawling out of my skin over seeing her again. When my plans were dashed last weekend I took it on the chin. It was honest and unfortunate, and I girded my robes about my loins and waited for the wind to blow through another seven days.
I was patient. I thought about seeing her again as much as I could dare, knowing how tenuous these things can be. I knew it was entirely possible that things were over and done with already; those kinds of things happen all the time. But now that I'm here - or almost here, anyways - my blood is running cold with anticipation. We will be together again. There are only hours left and I've picked up where I left off, dizzy feeling and floating, wondering exactly what it will be like, exactly what shape tomorrows time will ultimately take.
Will I go to bed tomorrow night with the memory of her lips against mine? Will I be able to feel her curves and lines in my hands? Will I feel a ghost pattern or her body, smell her smell somewhere? The mind wanders, the mind wonders. Excitement. Excitement for something so simple. It's as if I've come full circle, that I'm back where I was many years ago, asking my friend what it was actually like to kiss a girl. It's unsullied. My thoughts are clean and sweet.
I suppose I have come full circle in many ways, but some parts of me seem to only move forward from go. Parts of my life can only go forward, meaning that while my thoughts of seeing her, talking with her, eating with her, kissing her perhaps, are clean and unsullied, parts of my insides are jumbles of nerves set down from experience - the things that went awry, the things that were only to not be in the time it takes a thunderclap to peal, the near misses, the might-have-beens, the haven'ts. Being sick and being all alone - being happy and being all alone, wondering when my time in exile would end.
That's all a little too much to stomach. It's not really all that bad. In fact, I'm very happy just to realistically entertain possibilities. The simple-hearted part of me is clearly in the ascendant. Joy is the major mood at all of this. I'm not front loading everything. I'm not going too far from the shore here, but it would be against my nature not to think at least partly in very big pictures. Even the biggest pictures have to begin with one small stroke.
I am restless. The time and place have been set. For now I will have to try to drift with the current, to run with the wind at my back, to breathe only as fast as the air will come. Tomorrow brings with it the promise of something new. Something will happen, and in many ways I'm excited to be on the edge of something, good or bad. In many ways I'm happy to even be here, my stomach in a small knot, sleep abandoning me. It is all good.