Kindness Is A Boomerang
If he can make it off the couch to the kitchen, then he'll be up and at 'em. Movement is motion and motion is energy and like a battery, he'll recharge. Feel better. Or different. Good enough.
Long nights of hourly wake ups, followed by the struggle to quiet his mind.
Loop, loop, looping through endless thoughts of what if and who will and I should and maybe they'll but just go to sleep.
Sleep.
No tech in his room, just sleep and sex. Although physical touch has been lacking. Wanting. Week seven, but who's counting.
And that's just sheltering in place. Before that, well...seasons.
The sky is bright. City living with no light pollution is like life at the cottage on Lac St Joseph. There are meteors tonight, a shower or falling or maybe it's his brain playing tricks on his eyes. Looking for things he can't possibly see.
Four missed calls. Thirteen notifications. No one he's pining for so it's a wash. Is it too late to get up... too early to go back to bed. Maybe 5 minutes of meditation will ease this knot in his chest, quell his lungs on fire.
Three am. Three nights in a row. If she were here there'd be talk of causation. Magical thinking and prayer, koans and lore. Something bigger than the sum of himself.
Clean sheets, fresh pillowcases. He pulls the window wide open. No need for a screen, the cat never came back. He misses that cat. Showed up out of the blue and stayed for 6 months, wrapping around his feet, nestling in his hair, one paw across his forehead as he slept.
He keeps a tin of wet food and Temptations by the bed. Habit or longing. Hopeful yet no expectations. His way of moving through the world. Like a boomerang. Trusting that someday it will come back.
Long nights of hourly wake ups, followed by the struggle to quiet his mind.
Loop, loop, looping through endless thoughts of what if and who will and I should and maybe they'll but just go to sleep.
Sleep.
No tech in his room, just sleep and sex. Although physical touch has been lacking. Wanting. Week seven, but who's counting.
And that's just sheltering in place. Before that, well...seasons.
The sky is bright. City living with no light pollution is like life at the cottage on Lac St Joseph. There are meteors tonight, a shower or falling or maybe it's his brain playing tricks on his eyes. Looking for things he can't possibly see.
Four missed calls. Thirteen notifications. No one he's pining for so it's a wash. Is it too late to get up... too early to go back to bed. Maybe 5 minutes of meditation will ease this knot in his chest, quell his lungs on fire.
Three am. Three nights in a row. If she were here there'd be talk of causation. Magical thinking and prayer, koans and lore. Something bigger than the sum of himself.
Clean sheets, fresh pillowcases. He pulls the window wide open. No need for a screen, the cat never came back. He misses that cat. Showed up out of the blue and stayed for 6 months, wrapping around his feet, nestling in his hair, one paw across his forehead as he slept.
He keeps a tin of wet food and Temptations by the bed. Habit or longing. Hopeful yet no expectations. His way of moving through the world. Like a boomerang. Trusting that someday it will come back.
Oh, I absolutely love this one!
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