It is the anniversary of Thomas's death soon. All words are flown, and with them levity. My friends, I wish I could make possible your desire to be with me; but in this I am alone, even as I feel your love.
For want of direction, I re-read the poems, written by me, which my good friend Sam read at our wedding. Here they are:
Poem for Thomas
I walk in to your study to tell you I love you.
You have your headphones on and your back to me.
I stand behind you and tell you anyway.
I tell you that you make my days, my life, special;
that I will try, when we have a family,
to be what a family needs me to be.
I will try to be bold when the urge to hide tugs me away.
I will try to remember that your faults are few and insignificant.
It does not matter if the milk does not return to the fridge.
It does not matter if you do not know what I told you this morning.
It does not matter if you never buy a birthday card.
It matters, more than my heart can hold,
the truth of it spilling down my cheeks and neck,
that you love me;
that you stand with me.
As I tell you all this
you nod your head to your private rhythm
because of course you know already.
The urge to kiss you is strong
but I can’t stop watching you,
wondering at you.
I tell you I think you are brilliant.
You nod harder.
You turn and grin.
He and I
The day is old and beautiful.
The music stopped a while ago.
He and I dance in the living room,
Dancing slow for my knees and his heart -
A lifetime of dancing and loving paying its toll.
He and I dance our forgotten dreams,
He and I dance as darkness falls on our shared life;
Smiling because it’s been so good
Crying because so little is left to do.
He and I keep dancing,
Keep daring to know all of each other,
Keep dancing towards death,
But all the while dancing together in life.
He and I
Old and beautiful
Thomas on Our Honeymoon