When the drugs are gone, and the air is silent, it comes.
I close my eyes, get really still, and soon I can sense your presence.
Today I caught myself just standing in the foyer, looking at the desk in the living room. Six months ago, I’d wake up on any given Sunday morning to find you there, already logged onto the New York Times website, intensely studying the week’s latest marriage announcements.
You’d show me the ones you liked the best, and talk about how ours would be so much better. I would just laugh nervously and ask where you wanted to go for breakfast. You would just smile and tell me to hold on a minute. You weren’t done reading yet.
I stood there long enough until I became overwhelmed at the memory. I can’t even imagine what I would do if you were here with me now.
If I could ever find a way to coerce you back into this chair. I would wrap my arms around you and tell you that I loved you. I would kiss you gently on the cheek and tickle the back of your neck. Instead of going to some stupid restaurant, I would cook you something really good for breakfast that would be way better. Afterwards, we’d walk to the coffee shop and have a drink. Then we’d come back here and get back into bed to take a nap. When we awoke, I’d kiss you all over before we leisurely made love for the rest of the afternoon.
All the while, I’d think of the perfect way to ask you to marry me. Maybe we could go on a trip somewhere special. Or just take a ride up the coast to Ojai, maybe spend a couple of nights in Wine Country.
I would wait until the perfect moment to get down on one knee and ask you to spend the rest of your life with me. We could start our own family, go somewhere so far away from all of this nonsense. Have a yard and a porch where we could watch our love take root and grow into a dreamy magical forest we could call 'home.'
In a perfect world, you would say yes, yes, yes, a million times yes.
Just say yes…
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