June 8, 2011

My dearest,

I like these slow days. Nothing much happening. All the stores, all the restaurants, they’re closed. There’s no where to go but the parks or to stay at home. No shopping sprees that resemble wartime strategems with the ungracious hordes that land every weekend. No overpriced meals served in microscopic portions on the wide, near-empty canvas of cold, porcelain plates. No snotty waiters with feeble, foreign accents breathing the day’s specials down our necks. No fashion parade of the latest threads that cost a month’s salary and barely fits. No giant blasts of indoor air-conditioning and no guys in polo shirts disfigured by frozen tits.

We walk. This dirt path, the cyclists who ride by waving at us with their hands and their open grins. The dirt and the gravel give way to grass and we take off our sandals, ring them through our fingers, walk. The trees, their branches stretch out over our heads, the sun dapple on our faces as it slips past the canopy, the leaves. Smells so fresh. Today, today. We are alive today. Your fingers slip into mine, our sandals swing and touch, every knock a kiss. We walk.

It rains. Starts slowly with a pitter, then a patter, then the sky breaks open, empties itself on us. We are too soaked to run so we walk. We skip, we hop, we dance around each other, we laugh, our voices like thunder. We get home, undress, jump into the shower. Hot water. Bliss. The steam heals us. We are alive. Your turn to cook, you say. I nod, you’re right. You smile at me. Let’s order in instead. Okay, I say. Good idea.

You call the delivery number. I fetch the menu from the door of the fridge, stuck into place by colourful magnets from cities we’ve visited together. (We never bought souvenirs before we met; there wasn’t any point, I guess, in bringing home magnets before there were memories.)

You put down the phone, the pizza’s ordered. How many minutes do we have, I ask. Twenty minutes, you say. More than half an hour and we get the next pizza free. Twenty minutes. Enough to pull you close. Enough for a kiss, then another, and another…

Thing is, I didn’t expect to get to my age and be… content. It feels strange, this second skin, and yet. It feels right. This life, this life. I’m alive and I’m all right.

Twenty minutes. A little more would be nice. We’ll tip the delivery boy more if he’s late, you say. I nod, yes, totally. We unwind and intertwine. Tonight, tonight. We are alive. We are alight, we’re fire, we’re stars.

Yours, ever and always.