SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Thursday, Oct. 06, 2005 @ 12:41 am
Remember This Feeling



I watch him methodically climb up the wall, chalk bag swinging behind him. It's been so long since I held the rope, pulling it through the device, hands hot and dry, clanking of clips against the rough hollow-sounding wall. He falls away from the climb and I suspend him, tension between us now sublimed into a physical rope. Smiling down, smiling up, you know how it can be.

I feel heavy, unbalanced, weak against the angles and the small rough handholds. Time, practice, I used to be able to do those routes, and I know I can one day do them again.

There we are again in the cab of his truck, listening to CDs. A 71-minute CD begins and ends and we're still talking, absorbed in each others axons and synapses. He tells me, with a face so serious I want to hold onto it with two hands and press my kiss into his forehead, Remember this, hold onto this feeling. Whatever this is, this special thing between us, don't let it go away.

I ask what he wants. He answers with questions: Are you afraid of the word relationship? Are you afraid of commitment? What about communication? This is not the answer that I'd hoped for, but it is better for us, the healthier answer. Of course, because this is all different.

He kisses me then asks me a question. I can't reply. My brain has dissolved in the curve of his cheek, the pink of his lips and the smell of his neck.

Come over on Friday, he urges, I'll make you some dinner and then we can go driving.


Heather blooming in my parent's rock garden.


Roots | Shoots