It was the fall of 2004 and I was certain we were in love. We were somehow intoxicated with The Postal Service and what we thought it said about our relationship. I would climb on top of you in your little bed and you would smile and kiss me on the forehead, and then on my eyelids, and then on the side of my head, right by my ear.
I told you you were my prince charming for picking me up from the airport after the funeral I hadn't planned on attending that day. You had called me when I was outside the mortuary and I was all dressed in black but planning to wear something different when I came home to you. And you took me out of my sadness and then you reminded me of how you liked me, by showing me that you loved me. In this way. And that way.
And when we were back at the house, you walked ahead of me and reached your hand back, knowing I would grab it without question or hesitation. We had an understanding and a relief that we met each other after the ebb and flow of the tragic nature of 2001--and what followed thereafter. We were of new blood, of new promise, but with old hearts that belonged to each other at another turn of the century, somewhere else that we hadn't yet been.
You were my great love. And I think you loved me for pushing you away--until we could clasp our hands and get under the covers without feeling bad about it.
And I couldn't wait to be there, in that little bed, with nowhere to go and nothing to wake up to--save for you and the promise of 2005.
Sounds like 2005 was a good year. May it always be 2005 somewhere!!!!!!!!!!
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