Here is what I know. And it is almost nothing. And it is also almost everything. Like looking at sand under a microscope, I guess. Impossibly small rocks and shells that smell like the entire ocean and tell the story of our universe. I am very good at loving and I am very good at losing. I am good at fucking up and I am good at cobbling the things I’ve broken back together. I am good at forgiving and I am terrible at forgetting. I am painfully good at being hard on myself.
I didn’t post much this weekend, did I? On Friday night I drove to Kansas City to pick Chris up at the airport. The one person I’ve ever truly loved. The one person I’ve ever begged to come back after saying that last goodbye. The one person with whom I really, truly make sense. I added it up yesterday. We drove about ten hours total throughout the span of his visit. Sailed across these endless plains like the pioneers with half a brain did when they decided to keep going West instead of stopping to try to build a life in a place where roots have to be deeper than the plant itself to keep from being blown away. We saw a tree that grew from a seed sent to space. We saw the white house on the edge of a river where Amelia Earhart was born. We drove for hours to find The Garden of Eden. And there were tears and there was laughter and there were moments of pregnant silence and light conversation. And I couldn’t think of anything to say that was worth posting because the only person I’d been longing to tell all my stories to for the last six months was finally right there in front of me.
On Monday I put him on a plane. But I did so with the knowledge that nothing is irreparable. Not as far as he and I are concerned. This love is big. It literally spans the continent. Mountains and canyons. Deserts and badlands. This is the love people go to war for.