“He found himself wondering at times, especially in the autumn, about the wild lands, and strange visions of mountains that he had never seen came into his dreams.”
~ J.R.R. Tolkien
In the days and months in future present moments when I remember you, I would like to first remember that you were always lost to me. I would like to see that you showed me a view through a window that was opened, but we never climbed outside to play in the tall grass. And even later when I showed you my home, and you talked with Red dog, well: that was it.
And then you left and our two lives unraveled: I went this way and you went that way, our dreams no longer entwined.
And I kept my horses reined in, and they do not mind, for they share my proud spirit, and some day soon they feel that I shall release them.
But even without dreams I would like to remember your hair and eyes and the golden things that we did together. And most of all your kind command. I would like to see you revolving a world even if it is not mine.
And it was one of our only evenings: seven, eight…not more than eleven or fourteen or fifteen in all. I would like to recall how I was tired, walking across the bridge over the roaring white river, that night. The month before, my back muscles had spasmed as I helped my community dig out of the floods.
I would like to think upon the future, and build a path toward it. I would like to be a father to trouble-making children, and I would like to be a husband to a mother and a lover whom I am always grinning after. And first I would like to date, and first I would like to travel the world! A red line tracing my many new adventures, but I have explained all this, and the words are without object, now, as this heart has only itself left, for now, to feel affection for.
And the small town with the two streets and the proud high tall houses and the beautiful river and the woods: I shall come back to the Forest, and leave the City behind.
I would like to remember that you look just as good with your girlfriends and boyfriends at a house party as you do when dressed for a conference, in a Hotel, in black heels six inches high.
You mined my depths, and you found space five fathoms deep, and you kept mining, and you hit bedrock, but you wanted oil.
The beauty of Autumn is that things in their dying change, and the beauty in this change reminds us that life is short; reminds us to appreciate its passing. The bright leaf and green beauty of Summer and now yellow Fall has sent you, and me, us, and our budded, blossoming love—off and away on a random breeze, and now my pen is fallen, and my words and even love are shown for what they are: powerless against the revolving of the season.
I was sleepy with good hot tea and in those moments I lost you. Any breeze can take it all away from any one of us.
I would like to return to my work.
I would like to tell my friends no, I would like to bicycle the roads alone. I would like to suit up and get coffee for-here in a small thick off-white porcelain cup and drink the shot and ride, off, long, and in a week or two my beard will have come in and I will be warmly bitter against the cold, and I will begin dating again, a way of life that is fun, busy, a sport. But I miss it, the possibility of being interested in the other end of our conversation. I will miss your hair and impossibly shy, wide eyes and your stripes and the promise: that, perhaps, I could find a friend to want to love me.
Me. Take all of me.
That word encompasses my affections, my past childhood, my future accomplishments, my ups, my downs, my victories, my accidents, my lost things, my forgotten adventures: and together she who remains unknown shall enjoy many succinct times where friendship gilds daily life in golden light.
Innisfree Cafe & Poetry Bookshop on the University Hill in Boulder, Colorado. “And this is why we write love letters.” ~ @waylonlewis on Instagram.
This is our dance.
I reached out, sweetly, with confidence
You assented, with a shy smile I stepped forward again, for straightforward confidence
You invited me in
We fell in to step with one another, a perfect coming together.
Then, a sleepless night, and you slowed me down and pushed me away and then I was sad but I stepped back. and then you called to me, not to leave and
I listened and stepped forward and then you pushed me away and called to me simultaneously so I offered, yes, space,
And then you stopped me from leaving and came to me
And I returned to your fold and then we came together, again, passion
And then you pushed me away again, a fifth time,
And I was done: hurt, tired, bored, insulted, and you were offended at my displeasure,
And I let it drop.
“No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.”
~ John Donne