“And remember when I moved in you,
the holy dove was moving too,
and every breath we drew was hallelujah.”
Delilah was alive. That’s why he stayed with her. As he was fading away she seemed solid: solid enough to pull him back to reality. Her hips swung and her voice twanged: even in the morning. He soaked her in. Soaked in her life. She was over animated and put on an air of apathy that made him feel comfortable sitting and existing and slowly pulling himself back together from the recesses where he had been flung. She let him do that. And she nursed the life back into him simply by being.
So he began to live too. Felt responsibility and empathy slowly burn their way back into his blood stream. He began to make dinner for her when she came home. He cleaned her apartment, fed the cat, and once he went out to get groceries in the evening without telling her and she beat him home. He came through the door and caught her standing silently in the middle of her bedroom. They looked at each other and her face was grave. He held up the grocery bags.
“Just went to restock.” He said and stepped out of her line of sight into the kitchen. It happened so gradually that neither of them knew until it was too late. The sharing of life, the accepting of wrongs, the comfort of existing with another human being. She was all woman with him, and he was all man. He knew how she walked, how she showered, how she smoked, and how she laughed. He knew what made her grin, what pissed her off, and what she was willing to ignore.
So he forgave her when she turned on him.
No comments:
Post a Comment