A Lament

Purple flowers grow along the edge of the road. Trees border the park where I sit and a slight breeze blows the strands of my hair that have come loose from my bun. All the while people pass by, walking their dogs, walking to their cars and I sit and think of you. You slip effortlessly into my mind as I hear the whirr of a truck and a singsong exchange between birds.
Perhaps the sunlight gives encouragement; inspiration. As I picture you, all of this surrounding me fades away so I see just you; a different kind of sunlight on my skin.

For 53 years you have been a lover, a best friend, my person. And as I lean back on my elbows, drop my head back and let the sun’s rays beat down on my weathered face, I rhapsodize, painting pretty pictures of us, remembering our years as they were; an adventure, a search and a discovery.
As we reach the more mature side of 70 and the aches and pains slowly begin visiting more frequently, our once immense appetites appear to be leaving us and our children’s children hit young adulthood, not so far off from where we were when we met, I’m still left with a pleasant burning feeling in the pits of my soul, an adoration, an admiration; pure love as I now lean down off my elbows and onto my back. I still love the sun. The way it warms you to the core, the way it makes you feel like you’re still growing, blooming.

We learnt a long time ago that the future never comes, life is now and always is and we lived that way, we still do.
We climbed the rocks and walked across the sand, there were some shells but no sharp stones; just milky sand, and we placed our feet in the opaque water and enjoyed each other and everything around us.
I’ve tasted salt on the back of your neck, the smell of the sea on your stomach, tequila on your lips and tears on your cheek.
We kissed in cinema seats, looked out of train windows on European trips in our search for new wonders of the world.
We danced to fun songs and sometimes we still sing to them, they’re always accompanied by a memory of a time.
We never feared silence like one might fear it as a sign of growing apart, we hardly needed words at all, but we loved them so.

Across the park, I see so vividly still, a bride and groom, an autumn wedding for two. The ground covered in browns and beiges and dirty whites, the air; Luke warm. A couple, like snowflakes falling together, touching. An old man claps in the distance, probably, he remembers his youth and he remembers love, in all its serendipitous forms and fancies.
Two lovers, impatient to go to bed in their Manhattan hotel, I remember. You removed your tie and I kicked off my shoes; our hungry skin.
As I sit in this park, waiting for you, I write this lament because If I don’t I fear I may boil over with what? Love? No, something so much more than that.
Life.
My life with you, my darling. Let these days be like decades, let them carry on and on, I want another lifetime, and another, living years together with craziness, care and comfort.

And then I see you, walking toward me, a sight I’ve seen countless times before and my heart melts like all the times before. The way you walk, your quick strides, the frown that protects your eyes from the sun. I adore these mornings with you, and on such mornings I come to realise what life really is amidst all of its many journeys and destinations, my life is you and yours mine, in the end that is all it is.