On the train, a young couple, late teens, he lanky with 'Tall Boy' written on his bag, she shapely toward cuddly, and both smitten with each other. No kissing, except for his of her hand. Long rapt looking. She had stories to tell and expressive hands to tell them with. He, quiet, looked up at her with mouth almost open in admiration. I didn't mean to spy but you two looked so beautiful that my eyes keep threading past the waists of those standing crowded in the aisle to where you were quietly exchanging murmurs of mutual infatuation.
In the movie Still Mine, an old couple, near ninety, he tall, grizzled, sharp as a tack, she petite, ponytailed, vague and forgetful, tenderly rehearse an old ritual, she leaning over his shoulder: 'How long since you've had a haircut?' In movies, we get to watch these intimacies openly.
What is the trajectory that connects these points? I should know; I've traveled much of it already. Is it a mathematical arc or the darting flight of a dragonfly or the swoop of busy sparrows? There's plenty of gentle forbearance and quiet affection to be sure. But to be awestruck by the delightful, vivid being I find in front of me and to feel the chant in my chest going 'You, you, is it possible that I'm here with you?' is something worth searching for in what we've brought with us, my dear.
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