Covered Front Porch

The covered front porch off your bedroom is small. Like a breakfast nook or a reading alcove. On the second floor, the wooden balustrade is wide and sturdy enough to be a bench. There are stoat pillars in the corners just the right size for your back; they reach up creating gentle arches on all three sides. I was standing in your bedroom watching you sitting there, leaning back on a pillar, and one knee up. Your face is turned away looking at the lights of the city, your city, blurred with fog. It had rained all day, and once the deluge had stopped the fog had rolled in. The lights were muted but he illumination on your face was strong. I stand inside, in shadow, in the darkened room of my heart. Afraid, so afraid to move into the light, but wanting it so. I ache just looking at you, friend, mentor. I think of all those years when I was so blind. Many times you spoke your love for me; in silent actions, mundane tasks, selfless deeds, over and over. Encouraging, accepting, loving me along my journey back to myself, back to my humanity, home. In the years since our return I've known love, reveled in it's many forms. Much form, but little substance. None could assuage my need, though they tried. I understand now, that what I thought was love was merely gratitude. Valiantly they fought to love all of me and I was beholden to them for their efforts. How could they love me when I could not love them? My heart had left long before their arrival; it had gone to live with you. You, who never tried to love me, you who simply did. While my love and my fear stand staring each other down, my body with it's straightforward wisdom, moves towards you. My touchstone, my friend, my Empress lounging on her balcony waiting for the Gladiators to begin. Two silent steps more and I'll be next to you. You turn your head. You almost speak then stop yourself. I wonder what you see in my eyes, because yours widen slightly, you sit up straighter and drop one leg over the edge. Perhaps you're thinking of jumping, a 3metre drop to the soft grass below a relatively safe route away from me. The smell of damp leaves and soil fills the cool night air, there is mist on your skin. Your bright eyes hold mine as I come to you, sit down with my back to the lights, just outside the boundary of your spread knees...I reach out and take your hands, your small strong soft hands. I cup them together to see my heart beating there in time with the pulse of your wrist. The tears are a surprise, your tears and mine. I lean down to kiss your palms, to taste my heart, distant from me for so long. Then your hands cup my face, I look up into your eye, they pull me in, but your hands just hold me there. I sit up, lean forward; your hands pull me to you, moving my lips, my heart, my eyes to yours. Your lips taste of mist and coffee, I gasp as my heart tumbles down my throat, cutting off the air for a moment before settling home, blissful, content. Moving closer to you still I feel your heart reply. You sigh and pull my once dark heart closer to your light.

(F.Y.I: 1 metre =approx. 3 Feet!)