There are days that you stand on the edge of a shore watching the firefly in your bottle dim a little with every minute that passes, and you just want to look for a moment longer before you let it go. A month ago I found a 10 week old kitten in my cousin's yard. She was cute, sweet and curious, and in less than a few hours she dug a place in my heart where I suspect she will always reside. The morning I took her to the shelter I knew I was breaking my own heart in leaving her there, but I knew that it was the right decision. Sadly, most relationships are never so cut and dry.
This past weekend, after four years, I finally got to see "him" again, the first "him" in my life. We all have a "him." He's the guy that you meet when you're barely formed outside of the womb that somehow manages to hold this tiny thread that is linked to your soul forever. Some people escape, either in loving someone real; and by real I mean, someone that loves them back, or they escape into real life where the stress of the world forces them to move on.
I however am broken. Without rhyme or reason, without malice aforethought, and partially without the sense that God gave a goose; can anyone back up the idea that a goose is without sense, I went to see him. Through roadblocks, like an impromptu visit from his uncle, his niece having a party at his house, and the sudden appearance of a Con Edison truck blocking me from escaping my street, we managed to finally do what has eluded us for four years, we met up for tea.
Now, let me say that while I can't explain it, we have chemistry. It's not the kind of chemistry that powers love affairs and marriages. It's that inadvertent switch that clicks on whenever we are in the same room; at least it used to be. My heart doesn't quite skip a beat when I'm with him now, and that might have something to do with age and wisdom. (Okay, the wisdom part makes me giggle too.)
As usual, I was happy to see him, and his smile seemed to confirm the same for him. I love being with him, looking him directly in his eyes. I love when he holds my hand, and I could be forever happy if his arms were the ones I was folded into every day when I got home. Okay, I'm a romantic, and to me being with him is like lightning; unpredictable, beautiful, and deadly. Being with him is like an old habit; but this time something was different.
Maybe after all of these years I have finally grown up. Maybe real life is starting to set in. Or maybe, the truth of the situation is finally too much for either of us to skim over. I can't help but notice that he's impatient, and a touch cranky, and I'm not the forever hopeful girl I used to be with him, trading hope for the nervousness I feel worrying about how he sees me. They say you can't capture lightning in a bottle, and I'm wondering how long it will be before we no longer look forward to these visits.
Years ago I used to dream about a future between us and even when it was painfully clear we would never be a couple I carried a special place in my heart for being with him. At my current age and season of life I have no idea what I think about us. Isn't it odd that as we grow older we have to make peace with the fact that sometimes we don't know any more that we did as children? I can't help but wonder if he too is standing on the edge of a shore waiting for the last moment to open the bottle and let the lightning out.
