Friday, July 16, 2010

The Weatherman

No one can predict the future, a person very near and dear to me told me that. The future as a whole remains largely undefined until it's actual occurrence. Some things are certain, constant. You don't wonder if the sun will rise at dawn, or if the moon will wax and wane continuously. Elsewhere, we like to believe that the good things in our lives, whether they be activities, homes, schools, or people; will be in our lives indefinitely. Regardless of this hope, this want, people and places and names fade over time. I have forgotten the faces of more people that I can even count. I have forgotten the feel of the ground beneath my bare feet in the hills of Tennessee where I spent my childhood, the babble of the creek that ran through my yard where I spent so many hours dreaming my boyish, foolish dreams. I have forgotten so much, more than I could probably ever remember.

But the feel of your hand in mine, the warmth of your skin, the radiance of your smile, the overwhelming breadth of joy I get out of something as simple as your hair, the sound of your voice against my ear, the gentle weight the settles on me as we lie hand in hand, the sunwell of happiness that springs forth in all directions at the mere sight of you;

Those things I will never allow to fade. Those are things I refuse to lose, things I refuse to let go of. I will never see the day when you are just a picture in the inky parts of my mind. Your memory will never falter, and never fade. My love for you is like the rising of the sun at dawn, the waxing and waning of the moon at night, as permanent as the ocean is wide.

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