My B-side

Our Endless Numbered Days

Like most Sundays, I spent mid afternoon watching river barges plow down a water aisle way. In these moments I bask in light pleasures; music, reading, and most of all, writing. My hand always finds the pen, the pen always finds the paper, and there on the paper I find myself. (Mostly things that I can't afford to say.) But today a single longing caused such skip-a-beat-profoundness I felt it my obligation to share. I watched those around hustle and bustle, a jolt in their step caused by the enthusiastic preacher who not moments ago filled their cup with holy water and words. These religious athletes were jumping into their speedboats preparing to become grossly intoxicated. I can never relate to this vast majority so I gratefully turned my attention to those on the reverent park benches atop the bank. I found an elderly couple occupying the space below the swing set. They were hand in hand cozy, barely listening to the river crash against the dikes. When I saw them, in this perfect state of being, I couldn’t help but think they were existing solely for one another. Having spent half their lives together, at the end of the day still wanted to hold each other’s hand. This is what I want more than anything: to be old, decrepit, and still so in love.

posted by Melissa at 23:51