The Rodin Museum, Philadelphia
Talking to you on the phone, hearing tears in your voice, you tell me of your crappy day, it pulls at my heart and I wish the physics of the world would allow me to move through the airwaves to your side, and allow me to dry your tears with my cotton hanky, and kiss your quivering lips, smooth your hair back from your brow. Look into your lovely eyes and tell you that all will be okay.
Knowing that you needed time, time to heal, time to recover, time that didn’t exist, I wished for a place out of time that we could slip sideways quietly, just for a blink of an eye, returning just as quickly, no one the wiser.
In that place out of time, that sideways world, we would be on the beach, where you would slip out of your clothes, to feel the sun on our skin as I calmed your heart and mind, allowed you to rage and cry then relax on my chest as you slept for a time in the gentle warm sunlight on that sideways world beach.
In our place out of time I would care for you gently, smoothing the wrinkles from your brow, kissing away the cares of the other place, snuggling next to me we would eat fruit and drink sweet water and fine spirits, as the sun went low, make beautiful love, that carried us both away from all the cares of that other world.
In our place out of time I would sleep next to you and we would wake refreshed and alive in the moment, relishing the morning dew and twinkle of sun on the calm ocean, eating breakfast we would talk about nothing of import, nothing of that other world, just our love of things we share.
In our place out of time we would gently say goodbye until we would see each other again and prepare ourselves gently for the other place in time and then with sweet kisses on each of your eyes, we would slip quietly back to the real world with newfound resolve and strength, and I would slip back to my phone to my body.
With a sigh, back in my own space, I listen as your tears slowly returned back to that place behind your eyes. You are less sad but still miss me as I miss you, we say I love you, and finally you are ready to let me go with the promise that we would soon see each other again, for real this time.
As I disconnect I think, if only…
©The autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2018.
The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect 