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9.26.2002 | link |

 

my love is talking on the phone. he's gripping the too-small cordless in his large left palm so you can hardly see it. staring down and focused on a few feet ahead of him, he's pacing like a delayed business man on his way to a deal-making meeting. leaned forward. deliberate. literally wall-to-wall treading with robotic turns around the coffee table, floor pillow, and water-deprived plant. this pacing always makes me want to laugh.

his unshaved face looks tanned in the yellowish lamp light. his right hand occasionally punctuates his thoughts or pushes his long, shaggy bangs from his forehead. his jeans are long and little particles of dust eddy around his ankles. his bare heels hit the hardwood floor with a young man's force. and i can feel his steady thomp through the floor beneath me and up my chair.

it's a quarter to midnight. i think guiltily about the paper thin walls and my neighbors downstairs. and i want to ask him to walk more gently. i consider how i might get his attention. i wait. but then, i hear enthusiasm in his voice. without knowing the full context, i hear the sincerity of his interaction. he's having a good conversation with a friend. so without a word, i go to another room.

who is this man? this person who i didn't know once. but is now moving back and forth through my living room. this man whose insane humor has often kept me sane. whose intelligence and honesty have continually challenged me. whose thoughts fearlessly fill the world around him while mine are secretly scribbled on pieces of paper. this man whom i've adored, missed, hated, craved, thought impossible, yearned for, ignited, and sank in his arms for comfort. he happened to be on the same path at one point in my life. he asked all the right questions. and he stole my heart.

happy birthday, elliot. (and you think i never write about you...)





***






let bygones be bygones.


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©2002-2005 armeen y.



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thank you. and good night.