pensamientos sobre

"There is time," I remember her saying. "Time for everything."
I remember thinking, 'Why does she say that? Where does this confidence come from? Do I participate in this?' Maybe she sees something I haven't tried to communicate. I'll bet that's true. That is true. So I know...there is one thing she loves in me, but how she'll say it I don't know. Maybe that's the marvel of genuine relationship, the things known or loved or forgiven that aren't mentioned. Then one day one is discovered. One is mentioned. "Why do you eat standing there looking out the window everyday? I'm going to stand next to you every day and look out the window while eating." Maybe you laugh. Maybe you stop speaking. Nothing changed. But two half selves conjoined and matched, meld again and again. How many lines make a Celtic cross? One? Two? That's the way you tell me about me and I about you. That one thing I know...has not been identified correctly. Only it's attributes, which are so striking. And now I sit here and think with the biggest grin on my face, 'There is time, time for everything.'

Do you ever meet someone and sense 'this person can take me.' Mr. X can listen. He can take me all the way in and wrestle with me. Only after, do you think about it. Did my feelings deceive me? ...No one has ever looked at me that way before. ...that doesn't make sense. That's odd. And he made me mad! What a shocking connection. I hope we meet again. I hope we can know each other again.

I was thinking that as I stared at Ms. X, that we connected, but only for a minute. Chance intimacy is probably not intimacy. That was the past. And as I watched you I somehow watched the future. I was mad about you. Your high brow and watchful eye. The poise and thoughtful ensemble. Everything in its place. I was mad about you. The whole knowing how events might unfold. It's possible, who's surprised? But then you smile. I see it and it always stirs me. Because you smile I know you, and no mirror can ever tell you what these eyes of mine can see. I think I'm probably mad about you.

I don't know how much time has passed. I suppose that it's still passing. And I don't know if you know I'm here, or if you want to see me staring. There are only two things to do if you know a man who's staring. 1) Get up. Walk away. Don't believe what your heart is feeling. Or 2) look back. Take a minute and trust the one you're seeing. You can only jump in. There is only faith and reason. So dispel your fear, root that imagination. Some day I think I will talk to you. Because there was one time you came near me. That was the past.

The meantime is now, and now, ironically I can sit and watch all day. The dreamer's eye, not speaking. Was I? ...Maybe I was. Mad about you.