it was a surprise that five minutes into it, i got bored with the book. i normally love reading on the train. it was a surprise too, that after i neatly tucked the prized literary material in my bag, i found you seated beside me. we're both bound for the same destination. and it's a long way away.
it was at the glenferrie station when i started studying your face. the winds of time have treated the ridges and crevices fiercely and gently, alternately. the rivers from your eyes, that look strangely like mine, have made their light vertical indentations as well, invisible to the unfeeling and uncaring eye. you have a mass of black hair that defies the rules of parallelism. they've gone so wild that they're all over your round head, exploding with joy, like confetti. the little hairs of your brows reflect your defiant nature. from the center of your forehead, they start to march out like flanks of soldiers in neat files, gradually dispersing at your temples, that bear scars of the hormonal battles of your youth. at that point i was already amazed at how you just sit there and soak up the sights, and not be astonished at yourself.
the throng at the burnley platform took a while to trickle into the train, and it was there that i leaned my head on your shoulder. the maple trees outside spilled the shadows of their leaves on the floor, in my bag, on the tip of my right shoe, and on the old lady's lap in front of me. the irregularity of the shapes and their volatile nature fascinated me. and as the shadows crept from the lady's lap to her breasts to her shoulders, i closed my eyes and allowed my cheek to melt on your chest.
we changed trains in richmond, and you didn't offer to carry my bag, like you normally do. i didn't mind, though. it was more than enough that you were there.
we sat in silence on the second leg of the journey. but i didn't want to jiggle the status quo. i had a strange feeling that i needed to hold on to something, otherwise i'd lose it. i just didn't know what it was. so i just held onto your hand and stared through the passengers' faces, unseeing. all that filled me was that i was traveling on an average commuter train somewhere between south yarra and the house that i live in, and i have never felt more at home.
a barrage of thoughts went by in the windows of my mind, just like the landscape outside. i've seen our home, our garden, kids playing, your quaint little cafe, my book-in-progress, out of town trips, weekend veging with heaps of dvds and nachos beside the fireplace, and the simple heavenly joy of having your warmth in our bed when we drown the day's concerns in soft pillows and tender embraces. i must have had reveries. or my reveries must have had realities. the delineation wasn't clear anymore. not since you. my dreams have become alive, or i am living my dreams.
the next thing i know, we have arrived. walking through the front door, down the hallway, we enter our room.
i would have wanted to just flop on the bed, but i had the sudden urge to look in the mirror. it was then when i realized, that i was alone all along.
love is what is left at the end of the day.
From: melbourne, victoria, Australia
About me: i'm a wanderlust and a warrior of life. i have hordes of nomads and soldiers waiting to wander this sometimes barren and sometimes lush landscape of my head. i send them forth. they are my words. my weapon of choice: purple prose
posted by lei at 7:41 PM
love... we have the same psychotic tendencies. sometimes i call on you to get out of the bathroom because you've been there too long and i want you beside me. grrr. i always hear myself calling you anytime of the day.
i don't understand this feeling of longing. it's not exactly sad, definitely it's not happy but it is actually, if you feel it forward. i don't know if that made sense. since you've been gone a lot of things didn't made sense already. but we're not losing any.
i love this journey. every bit of it. we are developing "perfect love knows no fears". and as we discover more of what and who God is, we'll find ourselves bound in His string.
i miss you pretty.