Funny, I never thought about seconds, minutes, and hours before. And now I only think of them because of their irrelevance. Did we construct these structures, these ideals of the passing of time in increments to account for something? The lack of something? I knew you a second and I knew you. I’ve known you 904.5 hours now, and I still know you– more or less? Who’s to say. 904.5 hours can’t account for the languidity of feeling I feel, like a cat stretching in a patch of sun, just as a second can’t account for my heart gravitating toward yours like a moth to a porchlight.
I saw two moths on your porch the other night. But it wasn’t two moths, just one, and it’s shadow, in perpetual dance around the soft glow of light. My breath caught at the sight of such perfect symmetry. You said, “What better dance partner than one’s shadow”– and our shadows embraced and kissed against the wooden wall. Perfect symmetry. And time caught it’s breath too… could you feel it?
When walking to your house earlier that day I saw a little boy pushing a toy mower in the wake of his father pushing blades, machine, the real deal. The sight made me smile. But it also made me quietly reflective. You see, I feel I’ve been pushing the toy mower in previous relationships– a mockingbird of love. And now there’s you; the real deal. Your heart, a visceral machine, actually cutting the leafy and wild foliage of me, cutting through to what’s underneath, what was always there, and waiting– not in time, but in moments and coincidences, a shadow dancing alone on a wall, until you.