100 Words

She stood in a field of wildflowers.

Daisies mostly, but others too.

And decided that not knowing, in

no way detracted from their beauty.

Or how uplifted she felt, her body

following the trajectory of the sun.

Tears welled in her eyes.

Joy held her in an unseen web.

Arms reaching out and up,

her heart so open that the breeze

passed right through her radiant self.

Life gives us these moments

over and over and over again.

But you must get yourself to the field

and let the flowers bloom in your heart.

Welcoming the warmth on your face.

Near

When we were young, she always had a sixth sense when you were near.  That tingly, hair-raising, heart-beating awareness would always wrap her up with anticipation just before you would make your appearance.  Or perhaps she just had a really keen sense of smell, ferreting out any lingering scent of Export A Gold and those unfiltered pheromones you were always wafting in her direction.

She told me she still senses you.  It's still charged with the hopeful edge that someday (someday) your physical selves will collide long into the wee hours of the morning.  But it is mostly just a sense that you are in the room.  Invisible, but there non-the-less, and aware.

Driving in My Car

I paused to think of you today.  Thinking how we've committed to these roles.  Embedded and entwined in situations we're just not sure about.  And these things are always easier to get into than they are to get out.  So much damage in the extraction.  So much drama.  Plays like a bad made for t.v. movie.

Truth is, I don't really want you that much.  But I do want you some.  Or a lot.

Maybe in an illicit affair.  Like she said we'd done in other lifetimes.  (Do you suppose that is true?)  Torrid, even.  Messy, but not impossible to overcome or undo, should the others find out.   People forgive and forget these kinds of actions all the time, right?

There is something magical about the two of us, that I am at a loss to deny.  Nor want to.