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I lie here spooned against you in the dark, my arm draped across your softness, but I remember those lean and muscled days – do you remember mine?
How is it now so many years past that vibrant heat of youth, when we made our promises and thought we knew, we only thought we knew . . .
We never guessed at what lay in store: those nights of desperate pleading. The worried dawns and stressed out days.
And certainly not the anguish of betrayal or the loneliness inside that very thing that was meant to keep us company.
But neither did we anticipate the sweetness of enduring, the compassion in forgiving the very humanity of what was once exalted and adored.
The plinth and its burden (or the burden that was the plinth) long fallen and yet still precious.
The perfection in acceptance of the imperfect.
What is here is entirely new; produced from tears and laughter; bitterness and joy. Something forged from the hard, hard work of making it work.
It isn’t what we thought it would be and we are not who we once were, but I remember.
And even in this unexpected unmapped and uncharted territory,
You still feel like home.
(c)
10/2016
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