Something to be held.
He touched her. His skin next to hers. A tangible moment.
The sensation that followed however was not.
Crisp oaky notes passed through their mouths.
Lips pursed around the cold of the wine glasses. A tangible moment.
The lowered inhibitions that followed however were not.
He pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket and rested them on his nose.
She grabbed her purse to find the same assistance to read the menu.
The frames were lightweight in her hands. A tangible moment.
The connection over the effects of aging that followed however was not.
Again he touched her later. Their skin damp and sticky as they clung to each other.
HIs beard’s hairs brushed with abrasion her chin and cheeks.
Their hands locked, fingers next to fingers tightly weaved together.
Her hair fell into his face blocking the gaze of their eyes. A tangible moment indeed.
The chemistry their physical beings created was most definitely not.
But it too was something to be held…in their hearts.
[Just Jot it January – 1/8 Prompt: tangible (from 1/6)]
Just Jot It Jan 6 – Tangible
Happy Birthday, my angel, my Alexa Jane
Each return brings me back to you
Each adventure brings you along with me
We are all destined forward
Yet we cannot avoid returning
They say don’t look back
You’re not going that way
My journey is ahead and full
But I will always return to you, my angel
She lied the day she said her cells had been awakened by his touch.
The moment their bodies met, face to face, skin to skin,
There was a shift in her cells. They had not just been awakened.
Their composition felt as though it had been merged with his.
Seismologists probably have a word to describe such a shift.
For her she just knew that as she looked in his eyes and felt his breath on her neck,
She felt suspended in the galaxy, supported only by the absence of gravity.
It was not a spark that once ignited extinguishes with a slight breeze.
The energy between their bodies and gazes was palpable and nearly visible.
If the earth’s axis can shift, so then can a body’s cells reorganize.
She lied the day she held back her tears afraid of what her body already knew.
Deep blue through to his soul
Her gaze locked in, capturing his
Each cell of her body awakened
As if from a long winter’s rest
The smooth tips of his fingers
Reached for hers across the table
Soon their legs would meet
Feeling the energy pass between
Words charged with passion
Gently shared pieces of their lives
Reflected in the silky red wine
A carefully chosen chapter at a time
Goodnight turned to midnight
A journey of caresses and kisses
Left her looking for his gaze
In the morning’s light
All over this world today and here in Dublin, there are people riding trains, sipping coffee with friends, helping strangers, delivering fresh fish to restaurants, walking to school, holding their child’s hand, opening doors for another, making a heart in a latte, and all other ways that the people of this world seek to connect, to serve, to love, to celebrate, to protect, and to bridge our humanity to one another. These are just some reflections on my journey to a new place, with new people, and new paths. New to me, yes. But old nonetheless and well traveled by those who’ve come before and will come again. We may see much divide in our paths, but stay on your path and let it bridge you to others through your own “heart in a latte.”
Tomorrow we honor the dead. Those who passed this year and all souls gone too soon. Last month during pregnancy and infant loss awareness month I participated in a special project, Capture Your Grief. Last year, that project was my window to sharing my daughter’s life and death with those I know and love. The project helped me so much to process my grief. I think it is a daily process, but perhaps more a state than a process these days. I will honor and grieve for my daughter, Alexa Jane, forever. If grief is a process, is there a beginning and an end? I think, rather that grief is the state of love for those whose bodies left and souls remained.
I might not have managed a post for every day of the month for the Capture Your Grief project, but I no longer worry that is a sign that I am forgetting Alexa Jane. I talk to her every day. Not posting a blog is not going to change that. Her soul is intertwined with mine and no amount of written words, abundant or few, will change that.
Consciously Becoming | I Am
I am consciously becoming the person I had been before I had let the world convince me to be someone else. Losing Alexa Jane caused me to sit still and silent, to hear my thoughts, to write my feelings in words weaved in to a tapestry rich with colors… When we look at our paths, there is only so far down it that we can see. My journey has taken me on a path I could never have seen earlier. A medium has suggested that Alexa Jane’s spirit has always been with me and always will be…that her brief life in my womb may have been her way of telling me her spirit was here. So perhaps this journey of who I am consciously becoming rests in my path returning to where I started with the love and knowledge that my child’s spirit lives in me.