I let the tears flow for long minutes, then the sobbing begins, and as I try to soothe myself thinking of what we have shared, a numb but comforting feeling sweeps over me, and I don't want the tears to stop.

I remember when I called you in a state of despair last december, the only person I could talk to, and how, a couple of days ago, as we were walking, rushing, in search of something rarer than the holy grail, we were both taking the steps two at a time, and fell into rhythm. I remember so much more, all that, and everything that you know, even those I've never openly spoken, repeated, or just never dared to say.

One sentence and the effect I'll probably always remember, my own feelings revealed in his reflection from across the table. Damn the two years in Ireland. Damn the distance and whatever rabbit's hole we have fallen into, or wherever the years are taking us. I don't even want to know, and I refuse to consider "irrevocable"; it's not something I decided.

In the car, on the way to see your spy-lights, I got into a long monologue, a mere synopsis of the years, and as my mind was racing, now and again there was a flash, a wicked smile, things that I thought only we would understand, or only we should know. And though you and I had not discussed it before, after what seemed long moments of silence, yet we only crossed the bridge, I told him that you were going to leave the country, and as he waited to see if I had any more to say, I knew he was going to tell me that with those two years behind me, I didn't have the right to try to change the course of events.


For a moment I wish I could make time stop, but it is life I like most about you. As I look at that picture, I feel like I am the little yellow duckling, alone among the brown ones, the shadows and water ripples. I can't help those wicked tears, they are rolling down my cheeks again. Someone catch me, please.