2022.11.16: Dedicated to the one who gave this piece meaning, hates tea, but loved me… I miss you, Little Wolf.
You walk up to my door, survey the front porch where Spring and Autumn mix, mingles and dances circles on the floor in front of you. The smell of flowers and winter rain lingers gently, lazily, like children playing in your hair, like butterflies after the storm…
So I sweep it all up in a bundle to keep you from slipping on the first step… yet I purposefully sweep around your footprints; I dare not risk destroying any evidence that you’ve been here.
You smile… look down at your feet shyly as if to apologise for leaving dirt on my freshly polished wooden floors.
Don’t wipe your feet, I insist. Dirt, holy dirt, your dirt… worth its weight in gold, or a currency that can only be bartered with at the markets of the soul, by those whose qualifications consist purely of the number of tears they have shed, the scars they have endured, and the wisdom they have gained. Maybe here your way is paid by measures of kisses, and broken silences, and sighs, and smiles, and laughter.
Never mind. Look up into my eyes. Let me see you. Come in. You know you’re always welcome here, you always were. Though this be your first visit, your soul must have crossed this threshold a million times in as many lifetimes. Now fate has seen it fit for this threshold to be crossed – to be blessed – one more time, at this time, in this lifetime.
You look up, open your eyes: Wise beyond measure, yet ethereal, virginal deep whirlpools, shallow graves, stormy oceans… perpetual perfection protected in silent valleys by majestic mountains.
As you walk through the hallway I can’t help but notice your teasing manner, personifying my first kisses. Maybe you’re him… maybe. And maybe every time my heart jumps, you are where it jumps to. And maybe every time my heart skips a beat… maybe you are the pauses in between. Maybe you’re my heaven. Maybe you’re my hell… maybe.
Could I? Would you stay? Would you sit with me till dusk? And will you lie down with me till dawn? Would you take away this winter? This frostbite of a soul long deprived of the brilliance and warmth of your smile… of your eyes, of your embrace?
Let’s start with tea.