Rain falls when she goes out the door. It’s not always a downpour but somehow, there’s always that little drizzle that makes me think of water sprays from the angry waves in my hometown. The last time, she took 8 steps before she stepped out the door and got swallowed by the outside. I always get the morbid thought that perhaps it’s the last time I’ll see the contours of her back. I take a little sigh every time the door closes and a little prayer to send her her way.
If only I could, I would chain her to the bed so I could watch her every single minute. But love, as they say, is not about the embrace, it’s about letting go. Like being the wind to adjust their sails and bid the beloved a happy journey on whatever adventure she has planned.
I swallow all thoughts of possession as I hear the car go out the drive way. I didn’t bother to wave goodbye. I refused to entertain the nagging thought that perhaps it’s the last I’ll see of her. Her hair that she takes for granted, her everyday smile that she pimps out to her business associates, her special smile that she reserves for me. And those hugs– lately her embrace seems to be the only thing that I live for. I try to get as much embrace as I can whenever she’s around that I feel like a beggar asking for loose change.
Tomorrow. I know she’ll be back tomorrow when her business with life is taken care of, when all those little necessities have been ticked off her mental list. Tomorrow I’ll be waiting. waiting. waiting. For another serving of her embrace.