the weight of the wait

i am home again. out of the shower and smelling of sea salt and peppermint. wanting to feel warm ... satisfied ... strangely feeling neither. we all know that i can think myself dizzy ... and i am spinning ... twisting ... the images, the sensations of this secret dance, they stick to me. i can not shake them ... nor do i want to.

there will always be shadows i can't run from ... ghosts who brush their cold fingertips across my skin ... but they aren't you. they aren't us. and it's foolish for me to suppose or second guess at a time when i should be content to wait ... and see how things unfold. i ought to be, i can be, i am ... content. to wait.

so the question that begs is how to make peace with something too good to be true? and once we do, can it be explained?

i don't want to wear my heart like a girl in a hurry. i want to enjoy the flicker and know i'll be warmed by the flame. i want to be shattered wonderfully. but you'll have to forgive me if i don't know how to do this. my skin is painfully new.

the question of meaning is for you and i to answer. are we a beginning? or a deep and dying breath? i think i know the answer, but i can't quite reach it. 'use your words,' i think, but it doesn't help. the evening has gone straight to my lexicon.

what i know for sure is that i am happy. the last few days have been blissful and i'm keen to see what happens next.

and i am completely unnerved.

and at this i smile.