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| A gift |
There is some irony here, too. Raquel and the boy are gone. Arizona, visiting grandma. Somehow the day was not my own. I worked. I am often involved in email. It is a protocol that offers nearly endless problems to unravel, in all directions. Where would we be without problems. In the early days of the internet I could not believe the wonderful luxury of being able to write a letter from a computer and watch it vanish from the screen, knowing that it will arrive at its destination seconds later and make its mistakes.
I have been giving some thought to the meeting we had with the lawyer, preparing to map out the conditions of our love. The terms of the term. I am torn, like most, between what I thought I felt and what I think I feel.
I have loved her too much and for too long, but not well enough.
It is late now, the house is quiet. It is only myself and Akira, the husky. She sleeps in the chair near the bedroom. Sometimes she will come climb onto the bed with me. The quietude does different things to each of us. She seems sad and lonely, wondering where the family pack went. I try to cheer her up with additional niceness and playfulness, behavior of which she is suspicious. We both seem to love our morning walks the most. There is some sense of optimism in walking together. Or rather, it can fend off some of my pessimism, if I do it well enough.
I have not settled into the silence of being alone.
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