Sparrow-sized tomorrow

"Tomorrow. Such a small word. Two syllables. A sparrow-sized thing."

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“You're too far for my hands to hold you, but too near for my heart to love you.”
― Heraline

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Tomorrow.
Such a small word.
Two syllables.
A sparrow-sized thing.

He is almost here.

But almost is such a cruel country.
The borderland between longing
and having.
The liminal little kingdom
where clocks suddenly develop
the pace of glaciers.

And still I wait.

The countryside is beautiful tonight.
Of course it is.

The sky is spilling lavender
into the hedges.
The trees are gathering dusk
in their branches.
The fields lie folded beneath the evening
like great green quilts.

Everything feels suspended.
The birds.
The breeze.
My breath.

As though the whole landscape
has paused to listen
for your footsteps.

For all the ordinary miracles
waiting just beyond midnight.

Morning coffee.
Sleepy smiles.
The soft domestic symphony
of existing alongside you.

The beautiful boredom
of not having to miss each other.

And then,
Italy.

How absurd.
How astonishing.
How delightfully ridiculous
that life has written this chapter.

A wedding beneath Tuscan sunlight.
Olive groves shimmering silver-green.
Ancient stone villages
stacked like sun-warmed honey.

Both of us pretending
to be normal about it.
A hopeless endeavor.
The whole thing feels fictional.

Loving you
has made me greedy for mundanity.
The beautiful boredom
of belonging somewhere together.

Tonight,
I will let the hours pass.

I will let the moon make its slow pilgrimage
across the sky.
I will let the fields dream.
I will let the stars keep their secrets.

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