Too Much

"I wondered what was going on. I thought, she hasn't written in awhile, she must be happy."

I have kind of amazing friends. 

The best, in fact. 

The sorts of friends who remember the things your ex lover said five years ago. 

The sorts of friends who will ask your crush what's going on with us. 

Friends who realize things about me I don't. 

She was right. 

And that wasn't surprising since she had always remembered details of my life I'd already forgotten. 

It was pretty fucking creepy. 

And one of the countless reasons I adored her. 

What she'd said echoed in my ears....she must be happy......

I didn't really think I only wrote when I was upset.

But it was the way I processed. 

The truth was some things I didn't want to process.

Some things I didn't want to share. 

Sometimes a thing carries with it such delight it feels too decadent to repeat. 

I guess there was something about the past two weeks I didn't need to process. 

I was intoxicatingly content. 

Life has this peculiar way of surprising you--no--of shocking the panties right off of you.

I don't know that I've ever gotten exactly what I wanted before. 

No, that can't be true. 

But what about losing exactly what you'd always wanted?

What if everything you dreamed of, every fantasy and desire and hope for a lasting connection was wretched from your shaking hands?

And what if you'd grown accustomed to mourning the loss of it, of its entirety, for weeks upon months, of its indifference toward you, and what if you'd cloaked yourself in acceptance of never even looking upon it again?

And then, then what if on one unsuspecting night, you suddenly had all of it placed carefully back into your life, every last haunting detail of it, so that you were almost frightened by the sheer inexplicable force of it?

I have

what I spent

so

much

time

a c h i n g

for

And now, I have it.

It's mine. 

And I have to be cautious in my delight in it because everyone around me is waiting for the anvil to drop, for history to repeat itself amidst its repetition. 

And I've changed. 

I'm finding I'm even surprising my reflection. 

And I already know what could very easily be. 

It no longer has any element of surprise over me. 

And perhaps those previous cracks have strengthened. 

A part of me has become far too practical to get lost in the dizzying lure of romance. 

But when no one is looking,

when I'm alone in my car or staring back at my own reflection in my mirror,

I am giddy. 

Light headed. 

Overjoyed. 

At the sheer impossibility that has become the reality I'm swimming in. 

Sometimes I feel so drunk on happiness it hurts. 

It hurts to be this happy. 

It's strange and wonderful and complex in such simplicity. 

How can Life, in her tormenting inconsistency suddenly shove a rainbow down my throat?

Resplendent, he said to me. Because you're glowing. 

Because my skin has been consumed by joy. 

And yet-

and yet I am managing to remain calm. 

I'm like some slow motion scene in a film, where chaos is flying all around me, and insecurity and doubt would normally burrow its way into my skin to devour the joy dancing with the atoms in me, but instead I am still. 

And my focus, transfixed. 

And there is a connection that exists beyond anything and anyone I've ever felt or tried desperately to understand. 

I understand none of this.

But it whispers its secret in my ear and I smile. 

I know nothing of what is or is never going to happen. 

My uncertainty is surmounted only by my blinding joy. 

All I know, is that Life has taken every obstacle from what seemed a sad, lost story, and it has hurled all of it into the river, all the while laughing and singing and twirling with the stars. 

And so, we stood there, we two, startled, confused, staring only into each other's eyes, trusting. 

And that first step, that moment he reached for my hand and I squeezed his back in spite of my surprise, I knew. 

Somehow 

the timing

was finally ours.