Before I Go

Before I go

I will think of the ways we danced while we were here.

I will remember the things I saw in your eyes that kept me turning the pages.

I will smile at all the things that came to pass for you that I thought I wanted for me.

I will have watched you fall in love and stay together, or grow apart.

Make babies. Come to know the void of them leaving while they still live in your heart.

You, who travel the world, racing to make something of it with such urgency.

I will have watched you drive on with a force, before the lights went out.

Those things you particularly enjoyed - they swell in my heart like a private banquet for the hungry.

All my life I've been practicing for this.

Before I go, 

I will have wanted you to know.

And then, I will have been done with the wanting,

as we simply know, together.

And we will feel the breath of god in our eyes as our chests rise and fall.

Our encounter will be like the cathedral. 

Commanding. Pristine. Leaving no room for doubt.

I'm writing again.

I'm writing now, before I go.

There was a break in the fabric of noise that let the whispers of the heart do their talking.

It's my favorite kind of conversation - like a secret that knows everything and is happy to tell.