The Beloved

Sometimes I feel like you will fly away, that I will wake up one quiet morning and you will be gone. That my many words, my colors, the patterns they form and the secret metric of their rhyme will all be gone in the same sudden manner in which they came announcing your arrival.

That I will sit in my beige colored chair, staring at the ceiling, hands resting by my side and that there will be no more music in my heart. My puzzled paintings will stare at me wondering where they came from.

That I will forget to tune my ear to the rain and measure its falling – just a drizzle, a sudden burst, stopping, starting, pouring, noisy with wind and put down my work and sit by the window watching.

That I might forget to listen to the thunder after every lightening strikes and once again tell the kids that ‘light travels faster than sound’ as they repeat it with me in chorus, shaking their heads at my annoyance.

That I will forget the day I brought my newborn home and waited patiently for six whole weeks before she smiled at me in recognition. Or the memory of her tiny body lying upon my chest while she was asleep, caused me to know what God’s very hand laid upon my heart felt like.

That in the noise of living and making a life, I forget to watch the clouds pass by, appreciate sunrise and sunset, listen to the birds and taste my coffee as I wonder if the day calls for writing or painting.

So much time has been spent alone without a hint of loneliness. You my dear hold my hand even when I forget the feel of mine within it. So many bridges have been built to my once solitary life as I reveal the whisper of your voice within my heart or paint the images as you see them.

Yet, sometimes when the flower fades, the sun- sets and the empty tea cup stands against the stain upon the surface. Insecure in your love for me, as I am, I wonder if when morning comes you will be gone before I wake up without saying goodbye!