February 10, 2013

You Already Know Him

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He’ll drink slowly and smoothly and out of a mug. It’ll be early and he’ll like the morning. He’ll make extra and he’ll grind and scoop and pour and repeat. It’ll be hot and dark and he’ll let you have the first sip. He’ll leave some room and sit in the hour with you because he’ll know it’s your favorite thing. He won’t want it to end and neither will you and so you won’t remind him.

He’ll like the cold. He’ll like to share his fingers and toes with yours because they’ll be warmer no matter how hard you try and so you’ll let him. And then you’ll find the snow together and he’ll be there when it melts and when it arrives again. He’ll pause, he’ll wait and he’ll watch it fall. You’ll tuck your arm over and into his and then you’ll forget that the icy grounds and winds and skies are your perimeter.

He’ll be patient and he’ll listen and he’ll look forward to the sound of your voice. He’ll remember the edges of your smallest conversations and he’ll save them in a safe spot just in case. He’ll interrupt the quiet when it’s time to take turns and the seams will be hidden underneath and they’ll never show. You’ll look forward to the sentences he threads together. He’ll lace them up and they’ll be gentle and strong and like him. And he won’t know how good he is.

He’ll like to run. He’ll leave for minutes and hours and down long empty roads. He’ll come back though. His strides will reach further than yours. He’ll be faster and his speed will keep you going. You’ll move together and forward and for yourselves and for each other. His feet will touch the pavement and then they’ll float and the pattern will pace you. He’ll keep moving and you will too and it will be so beautiful and you won’t want to slow down.

He’ll fall asleep early and with his dog-eared book buried in the sheets you share. His eyes will scan and you’ll read his face and the walls and then the silent seconds will overflow the room. He’ll read the pages that chase each other to the end and you’ll meet him there. And then he’ll breathe and you won’t mind the noise and the ins and outs will reach the tips of your shoulders. You’ll fall asleep to the rhythm he sets and when you wake up, it’ll be right where you left it and he’ll be there too and it won’t be a dream. TC mark

Stephanie White

Stephanie White lives in New York City. She has curly hair and horrible handwriting.

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