It’s what my eyes behold when I pull out the phone from my bag. This is the third text you’ve sent me today.
You are like an uncomfortable space I inhabit,
I act like I loathe you yet I yearn to be in your presence.
So we have had our back and forth this year Stardust,
Isn’t t amazing that we are compelled to be sweet by timelines drawn by men?
You laugh at this, that easy laugh, I’m home.
Where are you Stardust?
When will you get here?
I know you are like a raging stream, always in a hurry yet ever changing.
Stardust, I want to be angry at you, angry with you, angered by you…is this normal?
You laugh and say, “Love, the Universe knows how much time each living thing has in the space we inhabit, you know, if your time’s up, it is and nothing not even a life-support machine can keep you up and running. See, men are sick.
We truly are because we thought it would be wise to name, label and restrict what the universe gave us…so we have days, dates, seasons and now everybody here is wishing me a merry christmas- and unlike you, I tell them it is a commercial season to get people to spend what they have without a thought…something that should be done every day!
Love, you always say that the part you love about Christmas is the part where you see everyone…and it sucks because we have eleven months to visit people, we have leave days to make at least two trips or set aside a day for this, but no…we wait till christmas to overfeed and overspend. I am getting ahead of myself, I’m just bummed that I never got to come home, to drive down and see you…
I’m a jerk. What are you doing with me? I guess it…no, it hurts, and more so when I know that it’s no excuse because every year I have 365 days, so if all I ever needed was just one day to be with you, then this one day that’s left is a reminder of all the 364 that I had.”