Mornings

The sky is painted a certain shade of lonely today; the sun is sulking behind willing clouds.

I take a walk among the dunes, my bare feet cold against the despondent sand. The hem of my skirt is lined with stray twigs and my left heel feels tender from the scratch of a broken shell.

Everywhere, your silence resonates--the breeze, the noiseless shadows, the woeful waves all echo your absence.

I stop and look at the sea, listening as it chants your name again and again and again. I am wondering how you can be nowhere and everywhere, at the same time. How is this so, Love?

There is tumult in my heart, and so I recreate the sound of your laughter and the calm in your voice. I look for comfort in the memory of your face, the fire in your eyes, the light in your smile. It is never difficult to do these things--they are what I lean to when weariness comes. My love is entwined with sadness, and no sadness has been as beautiful, no love as all-engulfing.

I have known this, all along: I have no need to look for you in things, for you are everywhere, even as you are far away. I understand that the distance that takes you away is the same one that brings you near.

But what am I doing, trying to unravel this mystery, right this very moment? After all, you are the puzzle I would like to spend the rest of my life piecing together, the question I would like to keep asking. It matters little if I never found the answer.

I need only marvel at you to understand: your soul is the light that sets my being aglow. Nothing and no one has made me feel as alive as I am now, now that you have entered my world like the ray of light that you are.

I stare at the sea, safe in the quiet and constant faith that my love will bring you home someday.

Someday, my Love.

Someday.