candids

You used to sit in the window and ask me things like, "Do you ever wonder if heaven really exists?" I'd pick up my eyes from my coffee, and they'd wander through the sunlight searching for the slopes of your body. "All the time," I said. "Every day."  You'd smile at me, though your eyes weren't yet satisfied with my answers, nor with your own. I liked when you looked that way. Then, you'd turn and disappear back into the sunlight. I'd turn and disappear back into my coffee.

You were always looking out. Looking out the window. Looking out for me. Looking out for signs of despair. Looking for ways out of your own despair.

I was always looking in. Because I feel like the inside needs more. It's more abstract. It's more forgiving. It's more of me.



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I was terrified to get out of this town, but I made the decision because I knew I would always wonder "what if." Otherwise, I had this feeling that there would be this alternative life hanging somewhere, suspended in the universe. Now was the time to get out. I knew that if I didn't do it now, I would be stuck here forever. I think I had planned to come back, in any case—to bring my experiences back and gather them all together in one me. But life doesn't always turn out the way you plan. I was pretty good at following plans, but not so good at following them to their ends. But so far I'd found a way to make everything work, or at least the universe had, for me. I don't think necessarily are meant to be or not meant to be. But I do think that opportunities present themselves to point you down the right route, and there's always a way back from the off track. It just sorta gets harder the longer you wait.
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You waited for me. You had a green hope in your eyes that I hadn't seen before.  Something like a light meant to be seen from a distance, and not so close up. Not so brilliant, not so searching. And you had a way of looking around that I liked. You would sort of sweep up your surroundings, and then you'd light up all the right details for me. You'd notice a chair, or an angle, or a light. And then you'd notice me noticing you. And that made your cheeks a bit warm. You'd look away to something else suddenly. And then I'd worry a little bit if you didn't like me looking at you. And I'd wonder if I was too old for you. And I'd make my way out of the room and I'd put myself back into my work.

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