Driving 280 and my cell phone rang. And it was him. It was him. My muse, the boy with the glowing eyes and the endless stories and the achingly beautiful spirit. And one time he thanked me for existing. And one time he looked at me and said to John "she's my little monkey wrench." And oh I thrilled at that.
And he had important questions for me, like how should he make his dinner, and should it include anchovies? And he said his paper which was meant to be 3 pages was now 18 pages and growing. And I laughed because of course it was like that, of course, it's him! And I knew, I just knew that he was neglecting other things because he'd been doing this, and he laughed and said of course he was. Of course.
And that is how we operate, we simply know these things, we see each other. Love and acceptance and this beautiful and disconcerting synchronicity is a matter of course. It is...everything. And I hate it, in the lovingest way.
If he were here I would take him and put him in my car and drive and drive and drive until we ran out of things to talk about, which might take months or even years. We would play music and both love it, because that's how it goes. When the tears came he would say "don't be sad" and he would smile me his heartsaving smile and I would remember that it is okay to be in the world. And it wouldn't matter that I have a sunburn or that I feel like throwing up or that I have impossible wishes. It wouldn't matter that I'm scared and maybe a little lost. It would all make perfect sense, for a little while. Of course it would. Of course.