Author: approximately

WE’RE WAITING AT THE BUS STOP FOR THE 22 when you lean in to grab my hand. To the left, the street builds to a hill and disappears into the sky. Everyone around us is ready for something, work or life or sleep, pressing play on another city day. I sense that there is something different about my day than theirs, that I am going to continue smiling long after I step off the 22 or even the 41 at Stockton and Columbus. The bus drops you at Market. Now people swirl around and alone, I put my hands in my pockets and nervously fiddle with the transfer slip that brought me to the present moment. I smile anyway, and look forward. Washington Square is full of Chinese men and women doing their dance, dogs and owners, lovers and lovers. To everyone, something. Me? I have you. No more waiting.

Calm and loud were the sounds of the wheels on steel as they traced the hills, and I walked. I recall a day when you said you’d pick up no matter what, and I wonder: As I walk these hills, have you thought I might be thinking of you? Distant, perhaps some Sunday in the future where we lay ourselves on the spots of sunshine that speckle the living room floor and take the best, the best sleep in the world, we might regain our alliance. For with all of the up and downtown days, I keep your nature with me even in the wind, even when we’re snowed in, even when I’m gone walking hills. My thoughts exactly: Thank you, for keeping my glass full and my mind sharp, delegating me a hit of hit-or-miss, for the fields and the meals and quality kindness, the showers of reassurance, you’ll get there someday! I climbed and contemplated going home—home home—but no, I can’t abandon this sweep of certainties, of spontaneity, of sudden surges of appreciation. And then I…I call…no answer, and I’m certain you’ve already fallen asleep.

Today has been utterly wonderful—
I’m so thankful for everything and everyone I have here.

LATELY DAYS, I’ve contained the evidence that our relationship is dusty. It’s almost time to put away, to trundle beneath the same staircase by which it came. Life is climbing in a different direction.