Monday, November 15

dearest,

i am crying into my hands, just, and thinking we must cry a little more, a little harder, a little louder. it's the only way to get this aching out, out there instead of in here, in our hearts.

you know the way a cloud of swifts moves and changes shape, almost folds back on itself and back and back again, as though by wind?  remember how you see in a moment that it's not a cloud but hundreds of birds, and in another moment notice that there is no wind, none but a bird breeze, the brush of hundreds times two for each pair of wings.  i am thinking of moment memories: one, that cloud of swifts above and before us, your jacket pulled up around your ears and the sound of your voice when you said, did you see that?

as for you and i, i didn't imagine our love anything like a beast with two wings, but rather two birds that flew together for awhile, careening, following and folding back and back and back.  we are not one thing, but two that moved together for awhile.  i thought we'd just keep folding and reappearing in new shapes, making new clouds, new winds, slicing through the sky while other lovers watched in awe whispering, did you see that?

be well, my love.  my head is in my hands.

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