Shared by Nathan Lindsay.
We met in San Diego for the first time on a Saturday. She was only staying for the afternoon but, somehow, as the day unfolded it just seemed to make sense for her stay the night. We hadn’t seen one another for almost two weeks and being in each other’s company was like discovering that piece of ourselves that had lay dormant. We knew each other…within that spiritual tether that seemed to permeate beneath the surface of who we were.
We stopped a Target near the Sports Arena so that she could pick up a few items for the night. We separated in the store to find things we each needed. When I was ready to find her I began walking down an aisle near the front of the store. Three steps and something within seemed to pull and direct my motion, guiding me. This wasn’t the right direction. I turned around and began walking down the long aisle toward the back of the store. I could sense her. I found her. When I approached she spoke, with her back to me, “I felt you walking up”.
Memories devour me…tease me…about her. There’s something fulfilling about seeing the place where you live through another person. It’s not so much that you seem to rediscover anything about the places you know so well and have taken for granted over the years. It seems to ignite memories of your past…helps you remember how this place became home for you. As if that other person’s lens has some formula for bathing the pain and joys with new comforts. The other person is not only engaged in your tour, but is seeing you in a different light. We’d met somewhere entirely foreign from San Diego. To experience one another in this city seemed to shatter any preconceptions she might have formulated during our years working together. I now had a past for her add context, a tangible history for her to digest. For me it sparked a sort of renewal…not just over my hometown…but of what it meant to truly appreciate depth in another person…I just kept falling.
So I shared the city with her. I shared my life apart from how we met and what she knew of me. I’d never given anyone a tour of San Diego and it felt good that my first time as “guide” was with her. It was somehow familiar and natural to be sharing so much of myself with her, as if we’d always known one another and our histories had always been braided. And there was a feeling no one had ever inspired in me…I felt lucky…to be around her. I was whole…calmed…happy. The rest of our lives didn’t seem to matter. We were here together. I took her hand and she simply followed with natural accord.
A transcendent romance ensnares the skin…me…an injured wreckage. Adrift in a sinking ship…sails absent of direction. No countenance in distance or time as my soul, spun madly for years, arrives calmly at safe harbor. The moon sends it’s serenade over Coronado’s sand…a kiss by the Pacific…the first moment these words ripple through parched lips: ”I love you”…whispered quietly in front of coastal history. Crystal stars share their magic and majesty with us as we walk, moving through conversations of what could be…might be. Fantasy divided by reality’s shifting tides. I stumble beneath the strength of her frame…shipwrecked. The glow of the night cascading the contours of her body, possessing recesses of spirit I’ve never known…I love you…
Ramada Inn’s might be great elsewhere…but not here.
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