the things we lost in the fire.
11/25/2009 § 4 Comments
i missed him today.
there was a fire, and i don’t mean a fire in the we-burn-for-each-other kind, but a real honest to goodness fire with flames and smoke that had grown large and threatening within an arm’s length of me we were that close. the thrilling, suffocating smell of danger closed in on us as we ran down the stairs, away from our offices and unsaved work. it stopped just short of the entrance we left behind us.
in the sunlight, it was clear we were going to be okay; we smiled at each other in relief.
it hit me then.
i wanted to call him and let him know that for a fraction of a second, i felt my heart skip two beats: the first originating in fear, the second in sadness. i wanted to hear him whisper babe one more time, to detect a hint of worry in his outwardly calm demeanor, to hear him sigh with relief that i was safe. i wanted to be reassured, perhaps selfishly, that if i were to be gone tomorrow, there was one person outside my family whose world might shatter, suspend, or both, for an indecent amount of time and it would be him. i wanted to come home to his arms later that evening and feel them squeeze the breath out of me the way they do when we don’t see each other for weeks. in our time together, we were always traveling, or moving, or apart.
but i didn’t.
and he didn’t.
i missed him today. and he’ll never know. i wonder how he is.