Our Place Apart (Alive)

We ran out of things to run out of talking about, here, in the sitting room in my mind. It’s never been brighter, the windows shined to perfection and the sun streaming in, and we’ve even taken to propping the doors open every once in awhile. And the fire burns.

“Did you know this?” I say, and you reply, “I do.”
“But, do you know that?” I ask, and you say, “I do.”
“Did you really mean that?” you say, and I do.
“Do you understand?” you ask, and I do.

Not too much more makes sense than ever had before, but we seem to mind it less. And then there are other things, the clarity of which has nearly knocked me off the couch a few times, that I won’t ever be able to unsee again.

It’s time to rearrange the furniture. I need to make more room for you.

I have my moments, you know, where I sometimes forget there was ever a time you weren’t sitting here staring into the fire, where I could watch it bounce across your face and reflect in your eyes. I’m so happy that I am, even momentarily, able to forget the whole place ablaze, or locking away the rubble, or scurrying past this room in a hurry looking at anywhere else. But I still have moments, however fleeting, where I wonder if this remodeled sitting room is just a house of cards, and it’s all going to come falling down around me.

It’s a precarious but important state to live in. It’s a warm and comforting room for the time being. The light you bring to this place has never be so consistent, so warm, so easy to fall into. And I think, in your own way, you might be teaching me how to do it, too.


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