“Speak the words you have swallowed. We have – – years of silence to fill. Let us crowd this night with all we have not said, let us cover every last second with our secrets. Whisper them soft and sure against my skin. Tell me goodbye, and tell me why.
Dust me for your fingerprints one last time, hold me up to the light, and see yourself all over. Know that you were here. Here we are.Grasp at what we will leave behind. What we are losing. There are ways for us to end this.
Love me just enough. Then let me go. Hold tight all through these midnight hours, then stand up, be brave. And watch. me. walk. away.”
My darling, there are ways for us to end this.
Good god. She went so far as to tell you what to do. You have always done what you are told to do. How could you not even give her that …
Last night I slept with a man I met at the hotel bar. A Sailor visiting dry land for the holidays. He told me he lives weeks at a time aboard his submarine. Submerged in the deep and the dark. His world is a place most of us would do anything to avoid.
My God your body is beautiful, he said when we lay down on the bed, and I thought – living under the sea must do strange things to a man.
But I looked to see, just the same. I lifted the sheets to make a coy appraisal of my flesh, marinated in the salt and oil of summer, this skin that I will peel and shed back home. I took in the chipped red of holiday nails, the grains of sand in the curve of my foot, and the nerves still pulsing in my flexing toes. I looked at my pliant muscles, and the startling white of my hidden parts. I could see all of the ways the ocean had left its mark on me, too.
This man tasted of rum and cherries. And when he kissed me again I wanted to say –You are not the only one who has emerged from the deep.
Last night we both looked beautiful when held up to the light.
~ Lucy, LOVED
I posted an early version of this exactly five years ago. Like so many of my musings here, the scene found a perfect place in my novel. Eventually. Funny reminder today that you never know where you’ll end up. You. Just. Keep. Going. Here’s to an exciting second half of the year …
I imagine it’s something like lights turning on all over the world. One by one the illumination, as continents glimmer then glow. I see it as gravity pulling the stars back down. Collective sadness, collecting love. The bright flame of grief making our shared surface deeper.
Know this. You have been loved.
It’s not dimming, ever. To remember, to honour, to lovein this way. We should do so well with the living. We should send out our sparks and turn up our songs while we’re both on the ground. Don’t you think?